Transmutation
by Blue-Inked Frost
Summary: Kitt's the Dragon Booster, against his will Moordryd's a girl, and somehow Cain's still sane. Needless to say, AU. Rated for safety's sake, content primarily T or lower.
1. Chapter One

**Warnings: **Changed universe. Sidekick!Artha. Feminist!Word. Male!Wyldfyr. Physical transformations. Ancient amulets. Sex. Shipping. Antishipping. Spies. Secret identities. Strange revelations. Battles. Dragons.

**Concrit:** Appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** Characters not mine, universe not mine, any dialogue that sounds familiar not mine

**A/N:** Conceived and written as a birthday present for Nemi the Nen; as such uses some concepts found in her version of the Dragon Booster Universe, particularly the fics _From The Stars_ and _Her Cunning Plan_. Also uses a concept utilized by Kay Yasha, but I _think_ it was my idea in the first place (I heartily apologise and will change this if not!). Rated M, but content is mostly K+ to T.

--

**CHAPTER ONE**

_The alleyway is deserted; you look around one last time to make sure as you lay the backpack on the ground, shielded by the warmth of the dragon's body in front of you._

_First comes the padding, withdrawn from the front of your suit. It's easier this way; you're used to the breastbindings, now. Next, the mouthplate; it's spared you from biting through your tongue on more than one occasion, and has become habit as well as reminder. The lined jacket padded at shoulders and waist, for extra bulk and insulation. Belts around your thighs buckled, to give them shape. Thick boots, then equally thick gloves replacing your normal bright pair. It's become a quick and familiar routine of preparation, an almost comforting ritual. The rolled woollen cloth, tucked between your legs._

"_Release the Dragon," you mutter through the mouthguard, and you know it's the last thing you'll say for some time._

--

My notsire (he might as well have been, though we do not look like pack together) commands a row of Humans, lined up waiting. Talking about me, I think from their curious glances.

Can I really claim all gear types? I show them. Silly scaleless ones; it's fun to see their looks on their faces. My notsire bids one of them to leave; I growl at him, for the tone of his voice and the pose of his body are malevolent against my family and myself.

The human must have worried him; he reveals the Star he keeps for me.

And then comes the first one on top of me. His feeling is strange, prideful; he would be willing to hurt me if I did not obey, and think nothing of it. It takes no more than a blink of an eyelid to sense, and I don't want to bother with more; I throw him off, snickering.

The next one more nervous, not nearly so certain after his fellow's experience; I let him have a little more time (_not quite the one I seek, a trifle too hesitant for my liking_) before another mag-burst.

And another.

And another. It's getting a little boring; I put a little more effort into this throw, scraping him across the image of my notsire, which elicits some amusement from him and my littermates (_humans too, but the relation is similar_).

"It looks like Beau won't choose anybody."

Then a cloud of smoke, sudden. A strong red dragon, skidding to a halt, atop it one of the brightest humans I have ever seen, electromag blue and pink and yellow.

She alights with all the grace and confidence of a Pack-leader.

"Okay, the rest of you can all go home." She holds her head high as she advances past the line of others; they seem even plainer now, deferent.

"Oh, great. Kitt Wann. She thinks she's the best dragon racer anywhere," one of them says.

"I beat most of you last week in the Fire Cave, didn't I?" she says, and that silences them. Not empty air, this one.

She strides towards me, watching me as I watch her. "Now pay attention." She's swift to mount, but far from clumsy; I feel her studying me, admiring my power.

She is...bright, fiery, determined; she knows dragons from the way she sits, attuning herself to me. Confident in herself; but there are calluses I can feel through her gloves, and her actions equally show she labours for and proves her ability.

"She's on!"

_Bright one_. My older littermate is still gazing at her like a Drakkus-struck dragonet, his eyes wide; I decide to trust his judgment and my own.

"Yeah, that's—" She pauses, considering me; the decision has been made, and I can already feel her self within mine, _racing and fighting and never once giving up—_

She reminds me of the _other_, the barrier within me I am not so sure I want to access. Her experiences, far greater than mine; but her brightness has won through it all, and I feel I can do the same. The Star begins to glow from inside me.

And then my notsire claps, and I look up to see him; he makes a gesture he taught me. _Throw her off, boy. Come back to me._

I don't want to. She's Bright One, not-me and me; I will learn from her, and we will runfight together.

But notsire says I must, and I fling her from me, directed to please my littermate at least. It makes me feel smaller, though I have not had to change myself for some time.

"So, that's how it's done," my littermate says, looking up at her.

She pushes herself from him, angry. "What about your son, Connor, the stableboy? Let him try!"

I understand her feeling for sharing it, and she continues to be a bright force in her fire; still, I resolve to allow my littermate to sit, for my Pack has always been close to me.

The resolve does not last when I smell the delectable substance my other littermate holds. I take it from him with my customary skill, and consume it with delight, barely noticing my littermate-friend on the ground behind me.

"I guess that's all for today," my notsire says. He turns to Bright One. "Miss Wann, I heard about your victory in the Fire Caves; congratulations. My son's a fan. Would you care to join us for dinner?" There's a subtlety to the way he positions himself in front of her, _pack leader_; it's easy to obey him.

"Sure, I guess," she says, frowning as she turns back to me, and then turns quickly away.

"Artha, you can stable Beau and Miss Wann's dragon. Lance will help me with the meal," my notsire commands, and then I am returned to my room.

Not alone.

Miss Wann's dragon.

_Bright One's_ dragon

A tall male, Red-boned. I growl at him as he is stabled beside me. Memorypictures flood my mind: the two of them, racing what feels like every track in the city, heart-companions requiring each other for survival.

Why had I not _seen_ this in her mind?!

"She is Mine," the Red one hisses.

I want to leap at him and tear out his throat; I am rarely confined, and moments like these make me grateful for it.

But he is Dragon, like me. A noble dragon at that, which only makes me want further to kill him. I have to make him understand.

"Bright One is...special." My tail twitches, fans out. "She is needed, _mine_ in a way she was never yours."

"Mine!"

He does not understand me; I roar, trying to teach him the Ways of old. He is almost forced to subservience, but still stands tall (_taller than me_), defiant.

"I will show you!"

My foot is placed across his, another ancient gesture of dominance; I let the hidden _other_ show through.

_A terrible war has come, a war between dragons and humans as red welts open on scale and skin...must choose the human hero to release the powers, to fight to end this, for the sake of the planet—you _must_ help, for we both have much to learn!_

"Uncaring. Mine!"

He growls again, showing teeth this time (_so confident, so aware of his skill and power_), and I know it's a lost cause. For now.

_What will Bright One do?_

--

A newcomer to the stall as we both attempt to rest, very carefully not looking at each other.

The same human my notsire earlier drove away. I mag him away, but it does not seem to deter him.

"Using your mag-burst to repel the draconium in my suit! Let's see what you do with this!"

My red acquaintance grows as we prepare to fight, but my notsire arrives to help us.

"Get away from my dragon!"

"Stay out of this, old man!"

The human attacks him, but I have no doubt in my protector's skills; he easily knocks him away, and I allow them to fight by themselves.

"This isn't over!" the human yells, departing. "You don't know what you just started!"

My notsire speaks to me. "So, Word. My old friend."

The tone of his voice suggests something entirely other than _friend_.

"You will stop at nothing to get this dragon."

I growl, indicating that I will defend both him and myself, and notsire runs a hand under my chin to soothe me. "You've made your choice, Beau. I thought it would be—" He shakes his head. "Kitt Wann seems trustworthy enough. I just hope she can be the one."

Crossing back towards the human quarters, he yells through a window. "It's okay, boys. Just some gear that wasn't hung up properly and fell. You kids can look after yourselves now; I've got some stable accounts to draw up. Lance, you're washing up tonight."

"_Dad_—"

"_I'm_ busy entertaining our guest. Right, Kitt?"

So he still likes Bright One; that is good.

"It's not fair! I _always _have to wash up!"

"You're my little brother, and brothers always help each other out—"

"Artha!"

They're at it again; I smile to myself, wishing I could join in rather than stay here with this annoying dragon.

My notsire returns to me, going past me to enter the downwards conveyance; I often accompany him to train and see other wise humans, but evidently not for the time being.

"Take her with you when she comes," my notsire says, and I nod. I will certainly take Bright One to learn about who and what I am.

--

She comes, at long last, not looking very happy.

"Stupid little boys and their stupid pathetic VIDD-games..." she mutters. She looks at me, and then turns her gaze to the stupid (_she is clever; it's a good word for him_) Red. "Hey, Wyldfyr. Let's go home." She glances again at me, quickly, and then turns back. "I know you're a great dragon. That one just felt...special?"

He growls yet again; I'm starting to feel very irritated by his lack of the same cleverness as I.

"You're special too, 'Fyr," she says, stroking him gently as she leads him from the stall. "I guess it just didn't...work out."

She cares for him.

For _him_!

I growl, and she looks up. "What's up, big boy?" She takes some feed from the bag my notsire placed next to her dragon, and offers it to me.

She cares for...dragons. I sniff her hand; she has raced with Us for long years, no fear or distaste but respect, comradeship.

I have made the right choice.

She gasps in surprise as I mag her to my back, and then automatically settles into a seat most comfortable for both of us.

"What's happening?" she asks, though I know that I at least can feel it. I dash away, to the conveyance, and she must be able to feel it too, for she allows me to leap down the secret passage with her.

"Woah. Magna Draconis. What kind of stables is this?"

The golden lights flare around us, and I feel the gold growing inside me as well, from the activated star-mark to all around. It's pure joy, delight. It glows.

I've found her.

We advance, down the narrow ramp to the star-centre; someone is there waiting for us, and I smile secretly as we pass him among the statues.

Bright One is not so much more experienced than me that I cannot surprise her.

I sense her delight as we pass through the gold, her wonder at the strange place; we're fortunate to both appreciate this, a comfortable shelter from the cares of everyday life. I take her to the very centre of the star-shaped rock, and wait. Not for long.

--

She starts in surprise as she sees him, and seems about to go on the attack.

"Do not be afraid," he says. "I knew you would come here. Your dragon is the one, Kitt Wann. The Dragon of Legend."

She is happy to hear me referred to as _hers_, as she is (_should be, if not for the Red_) mine; then she feels less content. "He's—Connor Penn's. I think. He threw me off just like the others."

"No," he says, and hope seems to flare within her. "Connor Penn did not raise him to be owned. The Dragon of Legend has chosen you, Kitt."

She looks down at me, astonishment and joy rising within her. "But—how do you know my name? Who are you, anyway?"

She seems to cover her emotions with speech designed to prove her strength; I will teach her that friends can show their feelings in front of each other.

"I am Mortis, a Dragon Priest," he says. "The One has brought you to us, Dragon Booster."

Confusion ripples within her; Mortis _shows_ her, hitting his staff on the ground and allowing the gold to appear around us, through me. The star dances on the ground, the gauntlet within it.

"We are an ancient order. Our purpose is to help you prevent another dragon-human war," he says. "The ancient gold draconium armour will be yours to command, if you and Beau claim the amulet from Artha Penn."

I guide her to it; she's uncertain. "It looks like an armband," she says. "What does it do?"

Mortis is strange to her, and she does not trust him yet; I mag it to her, and she relaxes as we feel it merging to us.

"What's this dragon-human war thing about anyway?" she asks cautiously, and I settle with her to hear Mortis' rendering of the tale.

--

"Artha's got a girlfriend, Artha's got a girlfriend..."

"Shut up, Lance! Anyway, she's long gone now. And it's my turn for the VIDDgame."

"No, it's not—I washed up for you."

"C'mon, you little thief-dragon!"

A sudden shadow; Artha stopped his wrestling with his brother to look up.

"What's wrong, Artha?"

"Don't worry." He pushed Lance away from him. "It's probably nothing. I'll just go check."

--

"We still haven't seen so much as a gold-and-black scale, Moordryd. Just some red one in here."

Moordryd Paynn, leader of the Dragon Eyes, rolled his eyes. "That's no ordinary red one, Cain, are you blind? It's Kitt Wann's dragon, one of the fastest on the street."

"So are we getting him instead, boss?" Rancydd asked.

"I'll get him," Moordryd said. "You two split up and look for the gold-and-black one. He's more important; call me as soon as you find him."

Wann's dragon, unsecured. She'd beaten him too many times on the race track; he'd take this chance for revenge even if he got nothing else out of the night. With black control gear in hand, he advanced meaningfully upon the dragon—

—who saw him creeping up, evidently, because he suddenly lashed out with his tail, sending Moordryd into the opposite wall.

He'd taken far worse hits than this and still gotten up, he thought as he hit the side of the stable, a metal thing sticking into his side, but then the wall _opened_—why, Magna Draconis, why?—and he was plummeting down as an elevator slammed its doors behind him.

It came to a halt in an underground cave glowing gold.

So Penn had a little _secret_ down here. He wondered if his father had known about this; as one of the wealthiest men in the city, Word Paynn wouldn't normally be expected to refer to an average Mid-City dragon breeder as "old friend". There wasn't much of a choice but to walk onwards; maybe this was where the black-and-gold dragon had been hidden, and even if not he would be guaranteed of _something_ he could use for his report to his father.

He glanced nervously at the statues lining his way; shining brightly, they could almost be mistaken for real people. Which of course suited him very well; Moordryd Paynn knew a good deal about remaining hidden, and crept among them as though he was nothing more than one of the dark shadows they cast.

Voices at the other end; as soon as he was close enough, he carefully looked from behind a particularly large statue.

Kitt Wann, riding the black-and-gold dragon; so she'd been the one to actually do it. Typical. Being talked to by a man in a strange costume.

"And so, you must learn to release the secret powers of both you and Beau," the man said. "Release the dragon."

_Secret powers._

The dragon should have been _his_, damnit. He needed to show his father that _he_ could be the chosen one for once, not an accidental byproduct of a long-ago relationship who barely succeeded in gaining his father's attention, let alone appreciation. Kitt Wann already won enough, she had _everything_—

—but the black-and-gold dragon. He flung out the trapping gear from his wrist to bind the dragon to the ground and knock Wann off; he could have called his fellow Dragon Eyes, but he could handle one street racer and old guy in a Dragoween outfit on his own. And get all the glory for himself while he was at it.

The man turned around, looking for the source of the attack, but Moordryd didn't give him a chance to find out; he threw himself from behind a statue, knocking the old man down with his mag-staff, and ran over to finish off Wann.

She jumped to her feet, facing him. "How'd you get down here, Paynn?" she asked as she attacked, leaping neatly over his head. "No, don't tell me. Stinking cockroaches like you always find lower ground."

"Takes one to know one, Wann. Why do they call you Street Kitt again?"

"Because I street-race, Sun City boy." She darted away from him then; as she jumped over the dragon she cut it free from the trapping gear, and it rose to stand in front of her. "Don't make me release the dragon on you!"

Moordryd brandished his mag-staff in front of the creature, but its huge muzzle loomed in front of him.

He hit it; it roared (_how could he have thought to make an impact on that thing, really bad idea _really bad idea!), and then Kitt leaped at him, pushing him down with her mag-staff across his neck.

"You all right, Beau?" she said to the dragon, who seemed to nod his head as he threateningly lowered it towards Moordryd.

The green-clad man approached, tapping the ground with his oddly-designed staff. "Well done, Dragon Booster," he said. "But we must act quickly."

He laid a hand on the black-and-gold dragon; a glow surrounded his thick gauntlet.

"This will hurt, Moordryd. I'm sorry, but it's necessary to prevent another dragon-human war."

Moordryd barely had time to think _How does he know my name_? before he heard himself screaming as the mag-energy took hold of him, ushering him into darkness.

--

The fallen human beside us, Bright One quickly returns to my saddle. "We've got to get up there!" she cries, urging me forward. "Moordryd's a Crew-leader. He might've brought his friends with him!"

The one calling himself Mortis (the scent familiar, but he has trained me to refer to him as such while the gold and green energies of his priestly garb swirl around him as pungently as the flavours of a spice-and-vanilla dragon treat) holds up a hand. "You must not go as yourself. It's too dangerous for you to be known as the chosen one."

"There's a ten-year-old kid up there! I'm going!"

Righteous anger spikes within her; she wants to save my littermates, and I entirely agree. I advance towards Mortis with her.

"I did not say you could not go. Only that you must hide yourself. Beau, mag me; I'll show you the best way out to surprise them."

I follow Mortis' directions through a path I know well; we stop for a little, and I mag one of Mortis' surplus outfits from a storeroom cupboard, for Bright One to use as a disguise until she has her armour.

"I will remain here and deal with Moordryd," Mortis says, dismounting. "The exit is just along this path. Take care, Dragon Booster!"

"Worry about the Dragon Eyes!" Bright One yells, and again I'm in perfect agreement with her as we run to save my friends.

--

Three hostile humans with their dragons menace the Red (not so hostile, perhaps?) as well as my littermates (all right then, they're hostile); admittedly the Red's roaring seems to be keeping them back, and then Artha activates the Red's thruster gear.

The hostiles are distracted by the wall of flame, and that's when we leap down to them; Bright One strikes out at them with skill and coordination, and I use my own abilities to mag the last of them some distance away.

"Who are you?" Lance asks as Bright One reaches down to grab him; she doesn't reply, scanning the area for signs of further foes. "Get on Wyldfyr, stableboy!" she yells, and Artha obeys her. "Let's make tracks to Down City!"

She is the one leading us, but I have powers I have yet to show her; I concentrate on speed, and alongside us the Red attempts to compete.

I'll show him what a Dragon of Legend can do.

We race through narrowing and darkening alleyways; though I have never been out of the stables before, with Bright One's knowledge I'm not afraid. She sees that I can race well with her, for all my lack of experience, and lets me have my head.

It's exhilarating, running through the cold air as dawn starts to beckon. We've lost our pursuers a long time ago; I all but lose track of time until I catch sight of Artha trapped atop the Red, looking rather troubled.

I slow then; Bright One's signals indicate we're nearly there, in any case. A dark and potentially dangerous area of town, but not one the Dragon of Legend will find difficulty with.

Artha's almost white-faced; I snort at him to prompt him to cheer up.

"Good...dragon," he says, petting the dragon's neck. "Good...slowing down. Nice dragon."

I pity him, having to cater to that red creature's whims in order to gain some peace at last.

"Cheer up, stableboy," Bright One says. "Home sweet home."

Artha slides off thankfully. "You're the Dragon Booster," he says, looking up at her in wonder, and slides the amulet from his shirt. "My father said to give this to you."

She studies it, and then I feel her slip it over her neck; we're ready to transform now.

"Thanks for saving us after Artha got me out," Lance says admiringly. "That was so drac how you handled those Dragon Eyes!"

"Yeah. You were great back there," Artha agrees. His face suddenly tightens. "Did you see what happened to our dad? I went back in there to find him, and he wasn't anywhere—"

"I didn't see him," she says. "I don't think he was there; I'm sorry, Artha."

He looks back to the red one. "This is Kitt Wann's dragon!" he exclaims. "I thought she'd left. What happened to her?"

A pause, and then they both nod in revelation; Bright One has chosen to show herself to my littermates. I approve.

"Wow," Artha says, gazing at her with the same dragonet-struck look.

"_Drac_," Lance agrees.

--

Connor Penn, in a heavy cloak covering most of his features. _Carrying_ his son as though he was a toddler.

Or corpse.

Word Paynn tried not to hasten down the steps of his Citadel (too many, perhaps foolish after all of him to extend it from Work Town all the way up to Sun City) towards the vision he had seen on his security camera. There would be nothing he could do; Connor would have already purchased his son appropriate medical care if it had been necessary. The good always had such weaknesses.

Still, his blood was circulating slightly faster than normal as he finally reached the door.

"Penn. What have you done with my son?"

"Your _son_," Connor said mildly, "tried to steal my dragons."

"That doesn't answer my question!" Word yelled, and then attempted to regain a semblance of control. Moordryd was still breathing, and evidently healthy. The incompetent _fool_ of a son he'd been cursed with.

Connor shrugged. "He's merely unconscious. I suspect he'll have a headache when he wakes up, but that's most likely all the ill he'll suffer from this adventure." He handed Moordryd over, and Word quickly placed his son on a nearby sofa. "He's too angry. Too reckless. You should have taught him better, Word. It might kill him someday."

"Is that a threat?" Word asked.

Connor shook his head. "You can be assured that I don't wish to see him dead. But there is one thing with which I will threaten you."

Word frowned. "Spit it out, before I tire of your games, old_ friend_."

"I have proof of him trying to steal my dragons," Connor said. "The Crews take a dim view of that—as does Dragon City Security. If you don't want them to get involved, don't mention my presence here today to anyone. Consider it a favour in return for bringing Moordryd home."

"My son knows his way home," Word said through gritted teeth. He could buy Dragon Security, but he needed his son's Crew for the time being; assuming Connor wasn't bluffing, he had banned the Crews from his stables, which meant that he was likely to keep the agreement. And it could do no harm for him to refuse to be the only witness that Connor Penn had visited Word Paynn one late evening.

Connor shrugged. "Then consider it a negotiated agreement, Word. Let your son battle my champion—and we will see which one proves the victor."

--

"You live _here_?" Artha asks.

It's not the sort of place I would have preferred to envision myself living with Bright One in. Something gold, perhaps, with blue highlights. But at least we will be safe in this dark place.

"Yeah, it's an independents' collective," she says. "We stick together, we pay the rent, and we keep free from the Crews. Stables are on the bottom floor, I'm on the fifth."

"But someone's going to see Beau!" Artha says. "Those people who set off the explosion. They had the black eye symbol on their clothes!"

"The Dragon Eyes," Bright One explains. "Yeah, I know. But we independents help each other out here in Down City. Beau's safer here than anywhere else."

It's time to show her one of my powers; under her, I start to change to a more appropriate colour, bright like her in red and blue, with a streak of purple along my side. She watches in awe.

"Nice one, Beau," she says, grinning. "Down to the stables now, right?"

Artha takes the red one; she lends him a spare brush, and both of us are groomed.

"Your dragon saved my life," he says to her.

My lip curls. _The _red_ saved him? I will not owe him that debt!_

"I was trapped in the house with the fire. Wyldfyr just broke free from the stables and broke down the house. I thought I was dead for sure until that dragon put a hole in the floor!"

In other words, he was bungling around like the stupid speedhead he is until my clever and brave littermate figured out how to save himself through it.

Bright One, however, does not agree.

"Thanks, Wyldfyr. Well done!" The red seems to smirk as she strokes his head.

"I didn't even think I _liked_ dragons," Artha continues, polishing the red scales with care. "But I think I've just changed my mind..."

The Red lets out a low purr; at least Bright One has returned to me, though, and I allow her to continue grooming my scales with skilled hands.

"And I've been thinking," Artha says after a while.

"Don't strain yourself, stableboy—ow, Beau!" Bright One startles as I give her a gentle hit with my tail.

"My father. I don't know where he is—" he glances down at Lance, who's looking very nervous. "But Penn Stables has been destroyed. I don't know if we have anywhere to go. You saved us, but I don't want to just take from you. And things have changed." He raises his head, looking us both in the eye. "Bad people will come looking for us. Like the Dragon Eyes. So I want to race dragons with you."

"Hmm," Bright One says thoughtfully. "We still need to ask that Dragon Priest about your father. You're not bad with dragons, are you?"

Artha shrugs. "I've been around them all my life. And I've, uh...played VIDD games..."

She frowns. "Maybe you can ride Wyldfyr, if he'll let you. But it's late, and I think all of us need some rest. And this priest outfit chafes like hell."

I let out a dragon-sized yawn; both Wyldfyr and Lance follow suit, and Artha and Bright One laugh together.

"'Night, Beau, 'night, Wyldfyr," she says, patting us both on the nose one after the other.

--

"You have failed me, Moordryd," his father said.

The room was blurry; his head ached. "Wuggle?"

"You failed to capture the Dragon of Legened and were carried home like an infant," Word Paynn continued, a white and orange blur to Moordryd's sight, and his voice like a neverending mag-drill into his head. "Now tell me, Moordryd. Did you gain _any_ useful information?"

He put a hand to his head. "I...don't remember."

"_Think_, Moordryd!" Word Paynn yelled. "What is the last thing you can remember?"

"There was the Fire Cave race. Wann got first place again—" he stopped, years of long practice enabling him to sense that Word Paynn was not happy with him. "No, that wasn't today. Earlier. I tried to ride the dragon. Penn threw me out. We came back again." He paused, trying to make sense of the confusion capturing his brain. "Rancydd, Swayy. With me as we searched. Then I remember the explosion we'd set earlier. And after that—" He paused. Had he been so _stupid_ as to mistime the explosion so that it went off on top of him? Or was it—a red dragon, he remembered, Wann's damned red dragon. "An explosion," he said. "And a dragon hit me. And then I don't remember anything."

Wann's dragon, in Penn Stables. She must've made friends with the stable brats, the _bitch_, and then her dragon knocks him out as he's distracted for a moment. _Scales, scales, scales..._

"Useless," Word said. "Sleep it off, Moordryd. I'll attempt to give you a task that you cannot fail once I am sure you are worthy of it."

He swept from the room, leaving Moordryd with his headache and lingering anger at himself.

--

The Red swishes his tail complacently as the humans depart from us.

"I guess you think you're so great for saving Artha? I'll bet that was an accident!" I hiss at him.

"You take him too?" He smirks again. "Tired. Sleep now."

Without further ado, he closes his eyes and begins to drowse; I reluctantly admit that he has a point after the night's activities, and eventually join him in slumber.

_Damn that red dragon!_

--

"Dad's still not answering my calls," Artha says as we depart next morning.

Bright One reaches past her saddle to pat his hand as he rides the wilful Red. "We're gonna find out what happened to him. It'll be okay, Artha."

"And we can find some drac racing gear!" Lance chimes in determinedly. "Dad'll lend it to us and the Dragon Booster and we can win!"

Sadness seems to sweep through her, but she and Artha attempt to maintain a cheerful facade as we ride.

--

They'd return to Penn Stables; Moordryd was sure of it. He'd left them Connor Penn's goods and gear, a perfectly baited trap; the Penn brats would return to their little hole.

They _had_ to.

"Moordryd? They're not here, and the Crew's starting to get bored," Cain said. "Can't we take a break?"

"We maintain constant observation until we see them," Moordryd snapped. "Let's not screw this one up, right Cain? They'll lead us to the Dragon Booster!"

"At least let me go home and pick up something to eat for the rest of the guys while they're here..."

"That's a no, Cain." He switched off Cain's connection for a while, and then jumped as he heard a noise. Carefully, he looked over the still-intact upper floor he was carefully balanced in, and saw the riders, Kitt Wann on a new dragon and Penn on hers.

_Stablebrat has a girlfriend?_ he wondered. Wann had stayed over last night, too.

He reactivated the comm quickly. "Black alert, Cain. They're here. Observe their positions and move into formation behind."

A blue dragon he'd ordered left alone rushed out from the wreckage, joining up with the mini-stablebrat; he watched as they arrived, heading for the stables.

"Blarre, Rancydd, Swayy? Get to the main sector. Cain, you're posted on observation. Make sure they don't get out the back door. Throw in fire grenades once they're all in, then go for trapping gear on their dragons."

"Sure, boss," said Swayy. "So what're you gonna do?"

"I'll back you up."

--

My family looks shocked at the extent of damage left by the fire, and I share their feelings; the stables in which I once carelessly played have been ruined, blackened with ash with their walls falling down. But some gear remains in the storeroom; I mag myself some Red thruster (oh horrid reminder of colour), to show them what I can do here.

Bright One laughs. "C'mon, dragon of legend. Let's see how much you can mag."

A photograph of the humans in my family on the table, its edges slightly charred; I see Artha look at it, then lay it carefully back down; I try to tell him in my low whine that it will be all right, but he does not seem to understand me.

"Aero gear, trapping gear pack—Artha, can you mag that penning gear to Wyldfyr?" Bright One asks. "We'd better take as much as we can with us before some scavenger grabs it."

"All right. Uh—good dragon? Mag the gear?"

It flies to them rather too quickly, and I snort in appreciation at the spectacle.

"Beau!" Artha complains, and Bright One laughs. "You need to moderate the mag-pull, stableboy. Like this!"

I take some brown battle armour, outfitting myself for the upcoming battles, as the Red no doubt watches in envy.

And that is when the explosion occurs.

I cough in the dark smoke that suddenly fills the stables, and I hear a scream of pain from the Red.

"Wyldfyr!" cries Bright One, and then I feel trapping gear pinning me to the ground despite my struggles.

"It must be the Dragon Eyes!" Artha yells.

"Dragon Booster!" Lance cries. "What do we _do_?"

I hear Bright One take a deep breath as we struggle to free ourselves of the trap. "The amulet!" she says to me. "But how do we do this, Beau?"

I wish I could tell her, but this is something she _will_ know for herself.

"I guess this is it, huh? Time to fight together." She pauses, recalling. "Let's go get 'em, Beau. Release—release the dragon!"

I become myself again, and feel her change also, alight with gold; I tear away the trapping gear, and we charge outside to fight.

--

_The Dragon Booster!_ Moordryd thought, horrified, as he saw the golden-armoured figure moving almost too quickly to track, magged from the dragon's back to attack his Crew while the dragon roared. _He's chosen someone already! Just like Father said._

Rancydd fell to the ground just in front of him; Moordryd looked up to see his dragon Retenshun running too. The roar was deafening this time.

"Back off!" he yelled into the comm. "We can't fight the Dragon Booster! Cain, keep on observation!"

Blarre and Swayy were scattered on the ground; he activated Decepshun's ramming gear, and prepared to fight as the Dragon Booster came towards him.

He fired; the dragon was advancing too quickly, and his aim was off, but he saw the iron ball hit one of the railings, ricochet off the sign, and hit them from behind just as Moordryd had the sense to duck out of the way.

They fell forward, and plummeted over the railing to the city below.

_The Dragon of Legend was this easy to defeat?_

That was when penning gear appeared from the still-smoky stable, wrapping itself around Decepshun to hold her in place. Moordryd swore. Blarre was getting up, though, ready to deal with those stablebrats once and for all; the Dragon Booster defeated and them rounded up would make for a rather successful mission.

"Father," he began, activating his comm as best he could while still tangled in the gear, "the dragon you wanted just fell over the Penn stables ledge..."

An odd metallic noise behind him; he paid no attention to it.

And then he was on the ground unconscious as the black-and-gold dragon mag-blasted him after clawing his way back up to Penn Stables.

--

"Cain!"

His lieutenant sitting over him, looking rather worried.

"The dragon knocked you right out, Moordryd! We were all running away after he hit you. Blarre made me grab you, you know how bossy she and Swayy get." Cain shuddered. "So I grabbed you and _then_ started burning claw, and we got away."

"And the dragon of legend, Cain?"

Cain shuddered. "Are you kidding? We were lucky just to escape!"

Moordryd grimaced.

He really didn't want to face his father after _this_.

--

"Wyldfyr!"

Bright One quickly runs to the dragon, deactivating her armour; I can admit that he is badly hurt, his bone visible through his right knee. And that he received it during a valiant battle.

"Get some bandages!" she commands. "Lance, we need hot water too. Did your father keep Quickbrand scalestitches?"

At least the Red seems to bear it with reasonable courage, only whining slightly.

"It'll be okay, Wyldfyr," she says, her expert hands soothing him. "Hold on, boy.."

Her feelings belie her words. I decide to do something for her, and approach. The Red only growls at me, but I nudge Bright One's thigh with my head, recalling what connects me to her—and what connects her to him, loath as I am to admit it.

I must work the same gold power that restores me to my true form, and as well act to prevent these people from making further attempts on those around me. I concentrate, bringing the tip of my tail to touch the Red's—and he is transformed, gradually, healed and altered into a purple-and-white combination (a definite improvement, as it no longer reminds me of his obnoxious nature).

He growls. _Save-me-you-did_, he says. _But._

_You still wish my Chosen rider, yes_, I reply. _Let us truce. For_ now.

I emphasise this with a possessive growl, and Bright One turns back to me. "Thanks, Beau." She flings her arms around my neck, rubbing it nicely.

She returns to the former red when _he_ growls, though. "Feeling better now, 'Fyr?"

"He'll be fine now," Artha says, with something like wonder in his voice—at _my_ efforts, I initially assume. "That's the second time your dragon's helped save me."

Grr. Such a frustrating dragon!

A sudden cough, from behind us.

Mortis steps from the lift.

"Dragon Booster. Did you plan to attend your secret rendezvous with me eventually, or should we hold it up here instead?"

--

"I have not heard anything of Connor Penn," Mortis says, shaking his head to indicate sadness; Lance's face falls. "My elevator down here will always be open for you, I promise."

"We'll stay at Penn Stables," Artha says. "We can't let the Dragon Eyes drive us off like that. And we'll race—won't we?" he asks Bright One, glancing at her.

"Yes. You will all need to train yourselves, to prepare for the trials you must face," Mortis says. "Word Paynn will stop at nothing to seize the black and gold dragon of legend."

"We'll race," says Bright One. "We can make a difference in the city. What about it, Beau?"

I roar in assent, and then we all laugh.

--

"This is going to be so drac!" Lance says as the humans lay out the spare mattresses, preparing the more spacious Penn Stables to be our home. "We're going to help the Dragon Booster save the world!"

"Pipe down, pup," Artha says, grabbing his little brother and rubbing his forehead. "You're still only ten."

Lance pouts. "But Mortis said we'd have to work together! Right, Kitt?"

"Yeah, I guess," she says. "But listen to your big brother, okay? He doesn't want you getting hurt."

Artha grins proudly. "Hey, Kitt. I've been thinking."

"What?" she asks him.

"The armour. It was made for a guy, right? The original Dragon Booster?" he says.

"Yeah. I should've asked Mortis about that," she says, walking over to me to groom me. "It's too tight some places, and way too loose others."

Artha blushes slightly. "The Dragon Eyes you trampled barely got a glimpse of you," he continues. "And I don't think you said anything, either. So since you've got to keep your identity as the Dragon Booster a secret..."

"I'll be the guy Dragon Booster," she finishes. "Pretty good thinking, stableboy. The _mute_ guy Dragon Booster. They'll probably think I'm Sarjo or something."

"How're you going to be able to say anything to the bad guys when you're beating them up, then?" Lance asks. He punches the air, quoting a VIDDshow I've often seen with him. "Kapow! The Silver Racer says, stealing is bad!"

"You guys," Bright One says. "And me when I'm not transformed."

I nod. _Clever thinking._

"I guess this makes us a team," Artha says. "So what do we call ourselves? Penn Racing?"

"I've never been in a team before," says Bright One. "But if I was..."

"I'd call it Sharp Edge Racing, after a group of four who all made it to the Academy in their own right," she says. "But I've still gotta see you race first, stableboy."

--

We learn to race as new dragons, telling all that the Red was too badly wounded and the secret of the black and gold dragon is unknown.

The ex-Red is fast, I must admit; Artha is made highly nervous at first, but is able to conquer his fears, and uses a new draconium controller to excellent effect.

His friend Parmon is a frequent spectator to our races, and gave my littermate the device; Bright One has decided not to confide in him, though, which is a source of tension between my Human and my friend.

The other dragons are most insipid, bar the malevolence of Decepshun and the ex-Red's boorish tempers. Their human riders are more interesting, but it is easy for us to defeat them; the experience of Bright One and my abilities keep us victorious in races, and we grow accustomed to each other.

More challenging, however, are the events of the nights, where we leap silent and strong upon malefactors, tapping out quick clawcoded signals to our friends as needed. Bright One knows her city, and her expertise allows us to triumph.

We protect Lance when he is taken into the Fire Cave, and our bond enables us to break Word Paynn's mind control gear; we duel Moordryd Paynn for control of the Down City Council and fight away wraith dragons with Parmon's assistance; we overcome the power of the Furox; we save the Red when he is turned into a wraith (a strong will, that irritating dragon); and, perhaps especially, work together to balance Libris' energies.

And we become friends.

--

Another day, another battle. I mag-blast two Dragon Eyes into the air, letting them fall as we stop the theft.

The other two are running from us; silly humans.

"They're getting away!" Lance calls to us.

_We'll get them_, Bright One claw-taps back, and we follow through the maze of streets at full speed. Routine, for us; I look forward to dealing the final moves.

A dead end. We skid to a stop, confused; and that's when the explosion hits.

Wraith dragons suddenly surround us, roaring. I prepare to fight them back, all four of them, for with Bright One I have always been successful.

And then, the ground gives way below us, and we fall to the depths.

--

It is very dark around here, as we pick ourselves up from the ground. Bright One looks around to see that we appear to be alone, and turns to me.

"Something tells me it's gonna be a long way up," she says, switching on her comm-unit. "Artha? Lance? Come in!"

She sighs when no reply seems forthcoming. "Scales, out of range. Might as well get started climbing—oh!"

A dark footprint on the ground before us.

And then another, and another.

I quickly mag her to my back; we stand battle-ready. The wraith dragons shimmer into existence, and Bright One easily fends off their projectiles with her blocking staff; we run back across a bridge, leaving them behind. Bright One gives a slight sigh in relief.

I look around the landscape, and see a huge silhouette atop a hill; she must have followed my gaze, for I feel her freeze atop me as she sees its size.

She directs me to run, her hands on the saddle urging me to flee quickly; I do so, but, surprised, note that we travel in a circle.

_We're gonna get close from behind. See what that thing is_, she taps in claw-code.

I nod, and we carefully travel between the wreckage of ancient buildings, coming to the giant dragon, ridden by an orange-clad rider.

_Word Paynn_, I realise, seeing the distinctive silhouette that has appeared on various VIDD-broadcasts; she shares my surprise.

And then the giant turns around, both it and its master looking straight down at us.

"The Dragon Booster. We meet at last," Word Paynn says. "My, my, you're early. You were careless to not cloak your mag-signature."

Bright One makes no reply.

"Dragon got your tongue?" he continues. "Or is it true that you cannot speak a word? It must be hard, attempting to stop a war while relying on mere spokespeople—"

_We'll speak action!_, she tells me, and with her staff raised I mag her at Word to knock him from his dragon.

_The bigger they are, the harder they fall!_, I roar to the dragon, using one of Bright One's catchphrases.

A glowing purple shield materialises between Word's hands; Bright One slams her staff into it.

_Too strong!_

I can sense the mag-energy as I turn her around in the air, preparing her for another attack.

Word's laugh is vicious as his dragon hurtles towards me, and he too is magged off to fight.

I cannot withstand a dragon that size; I dodge between two pillars, concentrating on maintaining the mag-field for Bright One.

I feel a burst of sudden shock from her. Up in the sky, Word fires a barrage of mag-projectiles at her as she dodges; I move her, helping her to escape it.

"Run away, little Dragon Booster," he taunts. "Run until you can run no more!"

She falls to my back, and we run as he predicted, avoiding the deadly mag-bursts as they chase us through the landscape.

_He leads us!_, she communicates to me, and I realise this is true.

A mag-bolt crashes to our left; I mag her in that direction over it rather than dodge the way Paynn appears to want us, and he follows up with another flurry from that direction. In the air, Bright One dodges as I struggle through; it's a drain on our energy levels, but at last we make it to the shelter of a cave, and take stock of our surroundings.

_Let's rest_, Bright One tells me, powering down once we are sure of evading the pursuit; and we settle to an uneasy sleep, curled around each other.

--

As we walk through the caves upon waking, our VIDDcomm finally activates.

"Drag—" someone says, through the static. "Lance...help..."

_Bad signal!_ she taps out.

"Can't...answer please...Word Pay...help..."

She guides me to run forward for a while, and then we attempt to send a return signal.

_Try going back, see if that works_, she says, and pauses. _Of course, I'm so stupid! They said Paynn did it! That way, like he wanted us to go! Hurry!_

"Dragon Booster!"

The comm finally explodes into life. "Word Paynn has captured Lance and myself with his wraith dragons!"

I recognize the voice.

_Parmon?_ she taps out bemusedly. _Why are you here?_

"I was observing you from a distance, and calculated your approximate trajectory down the pipe allowing for your combined weight, the pipes and water pressure, gravitational forces coupled with fluid velocity..."

"Shut up, Parm!" Lance's voice. "He showed us where you went. Artha escaped, but we need your help!"

"I will send approximate coordinates promptly," Parmon says, and Bright One taps them out to me in response. "The wraiths—" He gives a sudden shriek. "Got to go!"

_74, 42, 54, head nor-nor-west. We're coming._

--

They are still some distance away, and it chills my blood to see Lance surrounded by wraiths, standing next to a dark cave along with Artha's friend Parmon.

But worse is yet to occur. A tendril reaches out from that cave, grasping a wraith dragon; and is followed by another, wrapping around Lance and Frachsun.

We run faster, desperate to arrive in time. As soon as I can, I mag my littermate and his dragon out of danger; and then I see Word Paynn again.

"Welcome back, Dragon Booster. Welcome—to my trap."

He grabs us in his mag-stream, and then we're skidding out of control towards that cave, two wraiths breaking away from the prisoners to stalk us.

"Dragon Booster, no!" we hear Parmon cry, but the tendril wraps around us. I hear a grim roar from the depths of the cave, and groan at the energy drain.

_We need to get out!_, Bright One signals to me, but even her strength is not enough to prompt an escape from this.

"Feel the Muhorta steal your energy, Dragon Booster. Feel yourself weakening—as you watch my wraiths finish off your friends."

Horror seeps through her as she sees the wraiths advancing on Lance and Parmon. We continue to struggle, but there is nothing we can do; I close my eyes as my head is forced down, afraid of seeing.

And then Artha comes, riding on the ex-Red and driving the wraiths away from Parmon and Lance. He turns to us; I roar, warning him away.

"Artha, it'll get you too!" Lance screams.

_Away!_ Bright One signals frantically as we struggle. They are doomed to watching us as the wraiths regroup to attack them, all of us in desperate need.

_Yield to it!_, Bright One commands.

_What?_ I growl.

_Back up!_, she taps out hurriedly, and reaches down to activate her disruptor mine. _We can get in there and take it down!_

I groan as I allow it to pull us back, my energy levels dropping ever lower.

_Bright One's idea is all we have. We must escape this!_

Another roar from the enemy dragon, while Word Paynn watches avidly.

"Finish him off, my hungry vampire dragon. Leave what's left for me." He laughs. "You are mine now!"

The Muhorta gives a final pull, and there is nothing below my feet as I fall into the cave, hearing Word's shout of surprise and our friends' screams. I feel Bright One, attempting to grant me her support from the armour. I hope only that it will be enough.

It's dark. There's nothing below us as we fall, and then another tentacle snatches the mine from Bright One and throws it above us.

I hear the explosion, and see nothing as our escape route is cut off.

_Not enough._

"_No!_"

I feel Bright One's despair, echoing it with my own.

"I'm sorry, Beau," she says to me, speaking now in the darkness. "I'm so sorry I got you into this. I—"

_You were the rider I chose, Bright One. I am also sorry we did not have enough time._

"We have no energy left," she whispers, collapsed across my saddle; I feel her weak lifeforce. "Nothing we can do. At least...we didn't let Word Paynn win..."

She collapses then, left completely exhausted, and I know I am not far behind.

_The Dragon of Legend, defeated by the Muhorta._

Bright One absent, her mind no longer telling me of her expertise. I am lost.

_Release the dragon_, Mortis told her. She must release my power. We must join inside ourselves, to win...

I reach into her on the strength of our bond, ignoring the pain as I push myself. She is Mine; I touch her heart and take her mind, screaming inside as I force the joining.

_Release the dragon!_, I drag from her throat, and then it is the Muhorta's turn to scream.

--

_Bright One! Wake!_, I signal to her, pushing at her with the spikes on my face as she lies where she slipped from my saddle, unconscious in the cave's depths. _You must wake!_

She gasps as she feels me, and I sense nothing but fear from her, radiating in quick, sharp waves like the pounding of my blood.

_Chart us a path out of here!_

The forced connection between us still lingers; she reaches automatically for her comm.

"Just like for races," she mutters, typing in the required figures. "The way out...the way to the surface..."

I mag her onto my back and grab her calculations straight from her mind, and then we race out to save our friends.

--

We burst through the ground; I mag her from the saddle for her to battle the wraiths, and roar to compel them to abandon the fight. Artha helps, and our foes are beaten back.

Word Paynn looks to be startled at our appearance.

"The...Dragon Booster? You defeated the Muhorta? But how...?"

I send a mag-pulse to him, refusing to think how much it will cost me, and his dragon falls back several paces.

To my surprise, he laughs again.

"You are stronger than I expected, Dragon Booster," he says. "Until next time."

I watch him leave; I can feel nothing from Bright One, which does not trouble me in my state. I feel as though I have passed beyond exhaustion into a strange world beyond, grey and tireless.

She falls off the saddle, her armour disappearing, and buries her face in my neck.

"Beau, you saved me—I don't know how but you saved me—I'm sorry I nearly got us killed—I'm sorry I didn't trust you—"

Her tears spatter my scales, and I find it in me to regret my control of her.

"I saw—you _listened_ to me—my name is _Kitt_, and you thought you had to obey me and you nearly _died_ and I'm sorry—I'm sorry."

I collapse to the ground, as well. A short figure, oddly dressed, approaches us, but I cannot care anything for it.

_Kitt_, I think as I close my eyes.

The name will do.

--


	2. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

"I'm in position, Dragon Booster," Artha says to us. "Ready to try out my new blocking staff!"

"Moordryd and Cain are also in position," Parm adds.

"Sharp Edge commence operation!" Lance chimes in, and we quietly leap into the trailer according to Kitt's planning (_let other racers do all the work and then surprise them, works every time_), careful not to squash any of the eggs within.

We wait; it's not long before there are sounds outside, and we burst open to fight the Dragon Eyes as Artha leaps down to back us up. We're both ready for battle, though I dare not stretch our mental link after forcing it from her so recently; instead, I pay attention to her movements and signals, as she does to me.

There's a sudden attack, an iron ball coming at us from thin air that Kitt blocks just in time; after our defeat of the Muhorta, Word Paynn must have sent more wraiths to defend his son.

_Wraiths!_, Kitt warns Artha. _Let's jump for it!_, she tells me, wanting to move to higher ground for us to fight; I have a different idea from our surroundings.

I mag the end of Artha's blocking staff to myself (the look on his face is amusing) and fire it in the direction of the wraith; altering my signal to reflect it, I bring it into visibility, and charge invisible to meet the Dragon Eyes attacking us.

_Good one, Beau!_, Kitt tells me. _Slide past Cain so I can get his flash stick_, she suggests; I do so, and she throws it, blinding Moordryd and rendering a second wraith visible.

Together, we can do _anything_.

--

Another day, another race.

"I'd heard you'd given up on actually winning races, Paynn!" Khatah taunted. "With the Dragon Booster making cheating so much harder, I can understand!"

_And with Wann winning everything_, Moordryd thought; but Khatah didn't want to admit to that any more than the other Down City racers. He could remember the various humiliations administered to him from those two all too well, from the surprise victory in the marathon race after he'd trapped Sharp Edge down with the crazy orange dragons, to Wann reading the Dragon Booster's official statement that he was pleased Moordryd was attempting to follow in his footsteps as a hero and sincerely wished him well in his reformation, the gear accident after he'd tried to steal from them and Wann victorious yet again, losing the ancient coral stun gear to the Dragon Booster.

But still, he thought to himself as Khatah surged ahead, he had something _special_ to help him now.

He knocked Khatah's Aero gear out mid-leap with ramming gear, laughing. "You were saying?"

And then Wann came from behind them, racing that new dragon of hers to catch up to him. He smiled to himself as the track turned, and activated the new gear; Decepshun magged the rocket he'd left there beforehand, and it hit. She bumped into him, and fell back as he surged ahead.

He'd win at last, today.

--

"Are you okay?" Artha called to her, dashing along on Wyldfyr.

She flashed him a thumbs-up, turning back to the race. Parm's face appeared on both their screens, and they looked down to listen to him.

"This doesn't make sense! The way Moordryd has been racing Decepshun, her energy coefficient should be running at negative by now!"

"Well, she's not," Kitt said, looking up at Moordryd ahead of them. "Hold on."

She activated Beau's thruster gear, speeding up to arrive alongside Moordryd.

Decepshun's own thrusters activated, and they gained the lead again as Kitt and Beau stared after them in shock.

Parm once again appeared on screen. "I have precisely monitored Decepshun's energy expenditure this race, and, well—it—it's just not possible!"

"It must be," Artha said, appearing alongside Kitt once again. "I'm gonna try to catch up!"

She nodded. "All right, stableboy. I'll be the distraction. Go!"

She fired rappel gear to attach to Decepshun's saddle and waved cheerily at Moordryd as he looked back; he ejected a drag-box to cut through the wires as Artha raced past him with thrusters flaring, grinning. Decepshun kept up, racing neck and neck as both racers focused on gaining all the speed they could; and then they at last began to slow as Artha surged ahead.

Decepshun had stopped in the middle of the track, Moordryd yelling at her; Kitt smiled to herself as she passed them, catching up to Artha to slide into a first place at the last instant.

--

"Nice race," she said to Artha as they made their way back to the tent. "You're really improving."

"Thanks," he answered. "If I hadn't put so much draconium energy into the thrusters just before Decepshun quit…"

She elbowed him in the ribs. "You'd still have come second, stableboy."

He returned the gesture as Wyldfyr snorted. "Yeah, right. Bet you're just jealous of my racing skill." He clenched a fist in the air to show off his muscles, the gesture curtailed as Wyldfyr's tail smacked him; Beau snickered.

"Mm-hmm."

Parm came running up to them. "I still don't understand how Moordryd maintained such an exponentially increasing use of Decepshun's draconium reserves!" he said.

"I do," a new voice broke in.

They looked up to see the grey-cloaked figure, walking from the shadows to join them.

"You know, I watched you today out there. You raced like a real champion, Kitt. You'll make a true Elite racer one day."

"Thanks," she said. "And you're…?"

He flung back his hood. "I am Rivett," he said, "and I am a friend. By the way, don't feel bad, Penn," he added to Artha. "Moordryd was using grey assist gear."

"Of course, grey assist gear!" Parm exclaimed.

Artha frowned. "What's that?"

"Very rare, and very powerful," said Parm.

"Makes any gear even stronger, and helps your dragon go beyond his draconium limits," Kitt added.

"I want you to have it," Rivett said, and threw it; Kitt automatically reached out to catch it, but frowned.

"I can't," she said. "Where did it come from? Why give it to us?"

"I've been watching you for a while," he said to her. "You're going to make it to the Academy, I can tell. This is to sort of…level the playing field."

"The Academy!" Lance said. "Drac!"

Kitt looked down at it again, and shook her head. "Thanks, but..."

She raised her head; Rivett had disappeared.

"Thief! Thief!"

The sounds of Khatah's hysterics approached them.

"What now?" Artha sighed.

"Someone has been rifling through the Crew tents, and Phistus is on the warpath! Seems some gear has gone missing! I'd keep an eye out if I were you!"

"We'll keep both eyes out!" Lance grinned, and reached down for his binoculars as Khatah hastened away to repeat the warning to the Flares.

Beau growled, looking to their tent.

"What's up?" Kitt asked him.

Parm pushed open the tentflap with a determined air. "Hey!" he said.

Rivett looked up at them all and smiled, suddenly skidding under the tent's wall.

"Rivett! Stop!"

Kitt dashed after him through the crowded city streets, determined not to lose him as they pushed their way through bystanders and stalls.

He was running towards a fence; she hurried after him, and fell flat on her face as she tripped over a mag-rack.

_Scales!_ she thought as she picked herself up.

Mag-energy gathered around her, and she was suddenly pulled to Beau's back.

"Thanks, boy!"

They easily jumped the fence, seeing him heading away through another crowd of people and skidding through a watermelon stall; Beau caught up quickly to him, until his cloak was almost between Beau's teeth.

And then his form shimmered as he pressed something on his wrist, and he disappeared.

Beau growled, skidding to a halt.

"Shadow gear!" Kitt said. She looked up to where bystanders were being knocked over by something unseen. "Let's go get him, Beau."

They headed into a dead end, where boxes being knocked over gave away his position; Beau growled again as Rivett slowly appeared again, standing with his back to them.

"We seem to be at a bit of a standoff," he said, and to her surprise made a courtly bow to her.

"More like the end of the chase," she said, and threw him back the assist gear. "Thanks, but no thanks. What did you want with us anyway?"

He performed a graceful flip from the pile of boxes, and walked to them. "I'm not the thief everyone says I am," he said. "I'm on what you might call…a mission."

"What mission?" she asked suspiciously.

"I used to be in the Academy," he said. "You see, I'm a Mechanist."

"Yeah. Nice outfit," she said.

"The Crew of the grey bone dragon," he continued, slightly stiffly. "Like the mighty Libris!"

"You know about Libris?" she interrupted.

"Libris was once my dragon," he said. "I have to find the Horn that calls him."

"How'd you lose it in the first place, if he's _your dragon_?" she demanded.

"It was taken from the Mechanists," Rivett said, "by dangerous enemies. Now we want to take it back and keep Libris safe."

"So that's what you gave us the gear for!" Kitt said. "Information, right?"

He handed it back to her, a coiled thing like an ammonite in its shell. "No," he said. "I gave you the gear because I believe in you and your Crew. The Horn is just…something on the side, you know?"

She paused, staring at him; though he had given the gear to her, his hand was still wrapped around hers, his thumb just touching the bare skin at the edge of her wrist.

"I want to know it's safe, that's all," he said. "Your Crew helped balance Libris' energies. I know I can trust you in this."

She wrenched her hand away. "It's safe with Dragon City Security," she said. "You don't have to worry about it."

"Thank the Magna Draconis!" said Rivett. "My quest is complete." He gathered his cloak around himself with a flick. "Please keep the gear," he said, and disappeared in an instant.

--

"You _let_ him _go_?" Artha asked incredulously. "Why?"

"He said he just wanted to find out the Horn of Libris was safe," she said. "I told him it was with Dragon City Security. What's wrong with that?" She threw the gear to Parm. "Do you think you could check this?"

"You don't trust him, right?" Artha said.

"That's why I'm asking Parm to check the gear," Kitt said exasperatedly; Beau nodded. "I just told him about the Horn, that's all."

Lance snickered suddenly. "Have you got a new boyfriend, Kitt?"

She glared. "_No_."

"You won't be able to use this in lower-city racing, Kitt," Parm said suddenly, turning the gear over in his hands. "It's too powerful, and you don't want the marshals to kick you out. But I think we all know someone else who might want to try it out once I complete my assessments…"

"The Dragon Booster!" Lance grinned. "I can't wait to see, uh, _him_ getting to try it out and beat up bad guys. And can I get a go? I want to try it too!"

Khatah appeared again, walking up to them alongside Sarjo.

"We have discovered who the thief is!" he said. "It is Rivett!"

Kitt looked guiltily at Beau.

"I should have known when I saw the new grey assist gear on Paynn's dragon," Khatah continued. "Thank the Magna Draconis Rivett is not after the Horn of Libris! With that much power, there is no telling what kind of disaster that Mechanist thief could cause!"

Kitt tried to keep the shamefaced blush from showing on her cheeks in the face of Beau's unrelenting stare.

"He is a dangerous one! He was expelled from the Academy for using grey draconium in a most questionable way. His experiments ran towards the ancient arts…"

"All right, we get the message already!" she snapped. "We'll watch out for him, okay?"

Khatah looked shocked at her hostility. "Very well," he said. "I must warn Marianis to be on the lookout now."

He and Sarjo hastened off, and Kitt mustered a faint grin as her friends turned to stare at her. "…Oops?" she ventured. "Dragon City Security's really tough to break into, right? Right, guys?"

--

"All right, this is kind of boring," Artha said through his VIDDcomm, continuing to watch Precinct through his binocs. "Are we gonna have to sit here forever, Kitt?"

"We have to stop him trying to break in," she answered. "Then we can hand him over to Dragon City Security and see what they want to do with him."

"_We_?" he asked.

She sighed. "Okay, me. I made the mistake. It's all my fault. I'm sorry I'm making you do this with me. Happy now?"

Beau snorted, and flicked her with his tail.

"Well, at least he gave you this gear," Parm said. "My experiments show that it has the function of exponentially increasing a dragon's natural draconium energy and allowing the rider to better channel it through them! However, there do appear to be some excess components to it that I just can't figure out..."

"Just chuck it out," Kitt said. "There's no way I can trust that thing."

"But it's drac gear!" Lance wailed, but just before she could answer him they were interrupted by Mortis.

"There's a Mid-City robbery in progress. A Mechanist! Dragon Booster, you need to stop him."

--

They ran through the streets, finally catching up to Rivett in a dead-end alleyway. Beau reared over him, roaring.

_Looks like he's trapped himself_, Kitt thought. _Serves him right!_

Rivett didn't look too concerned. "Dragon Booster! I've been expecting you," he said. "I don't want to fight you."

_Of course he doesn't, he doesn't even have a dragon!_

Beau growled, as though echoing her thought.

"I was just trying to get a little special attention for my cause. I…"

Word Paynn's face loomed large on the screen, distorted out of all reasonable proportion.

"This does not concern you, Dragon Booster," he said menacingly. "Leave the criminal to me!"

_Enemy of my enemy…_

_Mag him!_, she signalled to Beau, and he drew Rivett up to sit behind them, turning their backs to Word's image.

"Very well, Dragon Booster," Word said behind them. "Have it your way!"

Beau reared up as three wraith dragons appeared in front of them.

_Let's go!_, she tapped, and they raced away, Rivett clinging to her.

Well, at least he wasn't going to run away a second time.

_Parm, meet us at three-eighty northwest!_ she signalled to him. They'd get answers out of Rivett somehow.

And then, to her shock, she noticed that the direction of his hands was far from desperate holding on but calculated movement, stealing up to the breastplate of her armour, gently but very definitely touching her.

_He'd find out she was a girl!_ She moved in the saddle, trying to throw him off her. You occasionally had to watch out in assigned-partner races on the track—Pyrrah tended to be downright flirtatious if she thought you'd make a good addition to her Crew, and Ferryt liked them young and female—but to be groped as the Dragon Booster was quite another issue.

"I've been watching you for a while," he said again, his mouth pressed to her ear as he whispered. "I know more than you think about your Crew—and about the Dragon Booster's secrets…"

Beau leaped; at last they were on the top of the building she'd nominated for the rendezvous, and she gratefully slid off as Rivett muttered the words _your voice_ in her ear.

He was an utterly _disgusting_ thief, she thought, brushing at her wrist where he'd touched her before. Now if they could only get some answers out of him…

"We know you're after the Horn of Libris!" Parm said accusingly. "What's going on?"

"You were there when Libris appeared," Rivett said, turning to him. "You know how dangerous the grey dragons are!" He looked back to Kitt. "He helped the original Dragon Booster restore the balance. I have to find him, or he and others like him can be used to start another dragon-human war!"

"And how do you know this?" Parm asked.

"Many of the other grey dragons were altered during the war using a hybrid of black and grey draconium," he said.

"Just like you were doing in the Academy!" Parm said, outraged.

"The same experiments, yes," Rivett protested. "But for vastly different reasons!" He took a step towards Kitt. "Libris is not alone. There are others like him, in hiding. They have been altered. It's why I need your help, Dragon Booster." He looked desperately into her eyes. "Without Libris, they could all be controlled to start another dragon-human war!"

She reached forward and grabbed his wrist. _Come with us_, she said in standard signing; Parm understood, and nodded.

"There's someone you probably want to meet," he said.

Rivett smiled at her. "Thank you, Dragon Booster," he said, and then unexpectedly jumped. She gasped as his feet hit her stomach, and fell back as he leaped off the building, invisible.

"Rivett! Stop!" Parm called, but he was gone.

--

"You let him go, _again_?" Artha burst into laughter. "How'd you manage that?"

"He's probably her _boyfriend_," Lance chimed in again. "She's being _nice_ to him!"

"Shut up," Kitt managed through gritted teeth.

"No way." Artha cackled again. "I mean, how many times do we get to gloat like this? You—let someone escape twice! This almost makes waiting around here worth it!"

Kitt sighed as she settled back to watching Precinct.

This was going to be a long stakeout.

"Sorry, Beau," she said, stroking his neck; he gave a slight_ hrrumph_, and settled in beside her.

--

"Kitt, I'm seeing something!" Artha blinked into life on her screen.

"Rivett?" she asked.

"A cloud of smoke, heading this way—the Down City Crews! I see Vociferous, Spynn, Pyrrah, Wulph and Ferryt."

"And on my side here come Phistus, Marianis and Khatah!" she replied. "Scales! It's gonna be Crew chaos out there. Release the Dragon!"

She and Beau quickly leaped from the roof to stand in front of Precinct, blocking the approach of the Crews.

"Stand down, Dragon Booster," Pyrrah said, brandishing her Fire Lance as they started to move forward. Kitt braced herself for battle.

"Rivett just got taken in!" Parm called to her. "They've arrested him!"

_Get in there too!_ she signalled to him.

_Double scales._ She'd have to stay out here to stop the Crews from causing a riot—and outnumbered six to one, that didn't look too easy.

_Let's try anyway, Beau_, she told him, feeling him digging his claws into the ground to prepare to make a stand.

"We are not here to take the Horn!" Phistus said, rushing in to stand beside them along with Marianis and Khatah. "We are here to protect it!"

The relieved thought that Phistus' presence would quell the Crews was curtailed when ramming gear metamorphosed across Phorrj's chest. Beau growled at him.

"It must stay where it is!" Khatah said.

"I said, back off!" Phistus yelled to Pyrrah. Brutaris' shield gear appeared around him, and Phistus fired quickly at her.

Smoke filled the air as Pyrrah's projectile collided with his in midair, and coughing as it surrounded her she knew it had begun.

Wulph and Ferryt ran towards her; she and Beau beat their way through them, pushing them together in a bright mag-burst she hoped would help convince the Crews to stop it.

"We've found a guard, locked inside one of the cells!" Artha yelled to her. "He says Rivett escaped!"

_More bad news._

_Busy right now!_ she answered them as Khatah, Pyrrah and Ignight hit each other in mid-flight.

"I'm not done with you yet!" Phistus called, slamming the Voices into a wall. Flame shot out as Spynn activated her thrusters.

She flew into the air to meet Wulph and Ferryt again, fighting as their dragons carried them on mag-streams. She fought Wulph with mag-staff, and then Ferryt leaped at her as well; she ducked under him, and then vaulted from his back, knocking him down.

She wished she could talk, yell at them all to stop; she heard Beau roaring below, but they paid him no heed. _Probably too far gone for anything but violence to work_, she decided, and launched herself back into battle as Wulph dived at her again.

The mag-bolt lanced past them. They all froze, staring at the deadly cannon that had appeared from Precinct's walls and was now bearing down on them.

"Dragon Booster!" Parm called.

_This better be that you've told them not to fire on us!_ she responded.

"No, it's not that," he said. "I'm picking up grey draconium signals somewhere below the complex! Lance and Artha are trying to follow them!"

The combatants slowly lowered themselves back to their dragons, staring warily at each other.

"Stop now!" Phistus told them, but they did not listen. Pyrrah's fire lance crackled as she prepared for another attack.

She glanced up at the mag-cannon, carefully directed towards them.

_Parm, they'll fry us all!_ she frantically signalled.

"No, I'm getting the grey draconium readings! Watch!" he called back.

She looked around, but saw nothing as the tension mounted.

A sudden clink, at last. She looked down to see a manhole cover move, and then gasped as Rivett appeared through it, a lone dark figure between two lines of hostile dragons, followed by Lance.

"I caught him!" Lance yelled, grabbing him by the waist. "I got the guy you're all looking for!"

_Oh no._

"He must have the Horn! Get him!" Pyrrah called, surging toward him.

Rivett looked up at Kitt, blew her a kiss, and then picked up Lance and ran.

She and Beau dove forward along with the others, running to rescue Lance; the two figures shimmered out of existence as Rivett ran, and then Lance appeared alone on the side of the road.

Beau pulled to a quick stop to mag Lance to his back, and then they watched the others in their chase.

"Split up! We must find him," Wulph called, and both groups raced away on their search.

"It was so drac! We went invisible!" Lance said happily from behind her as they turned back to Precinct. "You should date him, he's fun!"

Kitt sighed.

--

"Did I miss anything?" Artha asked, clambering out of the manhole. "Sorry I got stuck in that tunnel, Lance, I couldn't fit. That guy must be like an eel!"

The mag-cannon was thankfully pulled back inside; Captain Faiar and two of his deputies emerged from Precinct. "That was a close call, Dragon Booster. We almost attacked all of you. What's going on?" he asked them.

"The Horn of Libris has been stolen!" Parm said, rushing out behind them. "We followed Rivett into Precinct when he was captured and sensed his grey draconium shadow and escape gear—he must have taken it with him when he escaped!"

Faiar looked confused. "But— I walked past it just this morning, and our alarms haven't picked up anything," he said. "Come with me, Dragon Booster. We'll get to the bottom of this."

She and Parm followed him into Precinct's system of vaults, and saw the Horn hanging in the middle of a cell, suspended in a column of blue light.

Kitt sighed soundlessly in relief.

"Safe and sound, Dragon Booster," Faiar said. "Safe and sound."

"Are you sure?" Parm asked. He activated his VIDDscreen, showing a map of Precinct with a grey line traced through it. "My readings showed his grey energy in this area! Why would he not take it?"

Faiar frowned. "Maybe he couldn't break into the cell? We make them tough here, kid."

Parm's eyes narrowed as he studied the Horn, and looked down at his screens again. "I can't detect the draconium energy that should be coming from it, either."

Faiar reached forward to grasp the Horn. "Your sensors must be flawed, kid. See—"

His fingers met around empty air, and the image of the Horn shimmered and disappeared.

--

_Below Penn Stables…_

"He got away with the Horn," Kitt says, pressing her hand to her forehead; I flick my tail in similar irritation. "I don't get how I could've been so _stupid_!"

"It does appear, though, that he chose your safety in the end," Mortis says.

"He could've thrown me down to get trampled, too," Lance volunteers. "Somehow I don't think we've seen the last of the Mechanists."

"Good," she replies. "Because when we do, I'm gonna trample _him_!"

Artha laughs, as do I. "Sounds like true love to me," he says, and ducks as she throws our dragbox at him.

--


	3. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

We race. Obstacles pop up ahead of us, but we flawlessly navigate past them, even activating our thrusters to highest level in devil-may-care defiance of general practice. Since we became each other, we are able to see more through each other's eyes than ever before, more truly joined now; we both draw on her experience of the track, and too soon we've reached Artha waiting.

I slow my running to prepare for it; the ex-Red is alongside us, and our humans reach to each other to hand over the baton. Odd; we've practiced this before, and yet he seems distant today.

_Typical Red._

He watches me as we lean together. It is I attempting to synchronise with him, on my own; difficult, but certainly not impossible for a dragon of legend. We will discuss this later.

Nearly there, the humans' hands close to each other; and then an iron ball from behind us, sending me crashing into the end of the track almost on top of Kitt.

"The baton!" she screams, seeing it fall towards the ground behind us.

And then I see my littermate reach behind himself for it, and activate a mag-pull to easily take it with Wyldfyr's energy.

I'm impressed, though it is over so quickly that I doubt many others have seen.

Kitt seems to notice it as well. "It's a drac move," she says, "but Artha—how?"

A level of subtlety and skill distinct to what they have showed before in our training with Mortis, definitely.

We slowly pick ourselves from the side of the track as we see Moordryd Paynn, activating his thrusters to maximum level; _he'll burn out like that_, she absently claw-taps to me, and I agree. But he's catching up fast, slightly ahead of the Red (_clever Artha, hold your strength…_)—

—when his saddle blows apart.

Kitt cheers as Artha crosses the finish line in an easy first; we march with him to the winners' block, grinning as we join him and the ex-Red there.

_Why didn't you synch?_ I hiss to him.

His tail flicks out lightly at mine, a swift, pointed touch. _Why should I slow for you, oh mighty Dragon of Legend?_

My lip curls. _Because we need to win the races!_

You _did not win the race._ He snickers. _Need I mention a certain fall?_

I growl slightly; he and Artha saunter off ahead of us, back to the tent.

"Nice move, Artha," Kitt calls to him as she breaks away from a keen bystander. He looks back, but a new voice interrupts before he can reply.

"_Very_ drac."

A fair-haired woman, riding a Sky-class; she grins at him. I sense admiration from Kitt, and then recognize she's the champion Budge introduced at the start of the race: the Academy's rising star.

"I'm Chute," she says. "Your dad raised my first dragon, Artha Penn."

"Uh, hi," Artha replies, flicking his hair back and posing. "Thanks."

"It's not everyone who can handle a mag like that—especially from a Pack-Sky blend like that," Chute continues, approaching Wyldfyr. "Very interesting dragon you got there."

"Yeah. Sharpfyr's great," Artha says, patting the dragon, using the name under which we registered him.

Kitt jumps into the conversation, perhaps slightly miffed that the Academy racer has focused on Artha and not us. "We think both our dragons are great," she says, rubbing behind my ears to my gratification. "Do you want to go with us for some after-race coffee? Our treat, I was right behind you in the Vortex race last year and saw you win…"

"Sure," she says, then turns back to Artha. "Heard rumours about your father," she says. "Is it true he's…"

"You're under arrest!"

Another interruption; I growl, but three security dragons are around us already. Kitt signals to me to calm down.

Moordryd Paynn, with them. I bare my teeth at the dragon Decepshun.

"What's the charges?" Artha asks, sliding from Wyldfyr to confront the Captain.

"Gear tampering," Faiar says as Moordryd laughs.

"My saddlebolt blew," he explains. "I was ahead in the race. You made me _lose_!" He glares at Kitt.

"What's your proof?" she asks as the security officers surround her. "Let me go!" she cries in outrage.

"We found a detonator in this gear pack." Faiar hefts it, marked with the jagged incisions forming Sharp Edge's symbol. "I'm sorry, but I'm placing Kitt and Artha under arrest pending further investigation."

Moordryd and Decepshun's smirks are identical. I'm willing to fight this, to protest this injustice with all the powers I possess. But Kitt shakes her head _no_; I would probably hurt the security officers badly, feeling as I do. I growl anyway, letting them be terrified at the sight of my teeth.

Chute, though, has other ideas. There's a shout as she and Wyldfyr run for it, and then Artha's magged away to join them; they disappear, Dragon City Security in hot pursuit.

"Mag me!" Kitt calls, willing now to join them and help them escape; I do so, clearing my path from the capturing dragons as quickly as I can, blasting them away while Kitt fights. We run after our friends, ready to protect ourselves from this—and then trapping gear comes down at us from both sides, imprisoning us in place. I roar as we're surrounded, ready to take as many down as I can, but Kitt calms me, reluctantly.

Faiar approaches, his arms sternly folded. "I prepared for it, but I didn't expect you to resist arrest, Miss Wann."

She sighs. "You got us," she says, left depressed as the brief adrenaline of the chase fades.

Disloyal behaviour for both Artha and Wyldfyr; but he did not have a choice, after all.

"Cuff them, boys," he says. "We can't risk them running off as well. You're aware we could charge you for resisting arrest?" he yells at her, turning on her. "Artha as well? Frankly speaking, I expected better from you."

"The Academy could kick Chute out for this!" Kitt protests as her hands are weighed down with heavy green restraint gear, and my legs are trapped in black control gear. "She must have known we're innocent!"

"That remains to be seen," Faiar says, as Moordryd laughs again.

--

She'd spoken to Faiar many times before as one of the Dragon Booster's official spokespersons, and now it seemed he believed everything said against her. And Beau, trapped in the dragon holding section; she hoped he was okay.

That being said, they _had _tried to escape. But still, to be trapped in here with Phistus…

Her companion banged on the bars of their cell. Again.

And again.

She'd had enough.

"You think you could do something _better_ with your big fat head, Phistus?" she yelled. "Like, maybe working _together _to think of some _better _way out?"

He turned to her. "You've got an idea?"

Kitt paused. "I don't know, but…"

He returned to hitting the walls.

"Wait!" She held out her hands. "Try breaking these instead!"

Phistus looked down at her. "Hold them steady and brace yourself," he advised, and slammed his fists down on her hands.

The restraints held, though were dented, and she was sure her wrists were bruising. "Try it again!" she said, bracing herself.

The wall exploded as her hands came free.

She and Phistus were thrown down in the cloud of smoke. She saw a small grey thing flung through the air, bouncing towards him; she started toward him to get him out of the way, and then felt herself magged out through the broken wall and running for it as sirens blared behind them.

"Beau, what about Phistus, how…"

"He'll be fine," someone sitting behind her said, and she twisted around to see Rivett.

"I ought to go back now and turn you in for stealing the Horn!" she said, outraged. "What do you think you're doing?"

He held up his hands. "I surrender, Kitt! I just wanted to prove my—devotion to you; I have read Dragon City Security secret files and discovered that our encounter last time was not as I hoped…"

"In other words, you're sorry we found out. Beau, please keep him magged on," she said. "I'm going to get some answers this time."

"By the way, I knocked out your friend for a very good reason," Rivett said softly. "You see, Moordryd Paynn plans to steal his dragons, and I would think that you need some privacy in order to help him…"

_Privacy. He…_

"Yes, I know who you are," he said in response to her unvoiced thought. "As I said, the Mechanists think you are worthy, Kitt. You must use our gear. Accept our help."

"Someone else needs my help now," she snapped.

_Now, Beau!_, she signalled; Beau magged Rivett into a wall, and then she fired her trapping gear to pin him there.

"We'll be back," she promised him, and went with Beau to transform.

--

His wraiths, defeated; the raid on Phistus' stables a clear failure, despite his father's attempt at imprisoning the big lug.

The damn _Dragon Booster _again, of course. With the stupid _Academy_ racer to help him.

It wasn't fair. He'd _tried_.

At least he hadn't got caught at it, he told himself sourly. Even if Sharp Edge had been proved innocent and even gotten away with blowing up Dragon City Security because Faiar was a biased _twit_, he and Cain would just have to win the _next_ relay race…

…or face his father's extreme displeasure. Once again.

--

After facing the gruelling obstacle course taking him through what he'd previously assumed were just the Citadel's old dusty attics, he was ready to collapse, but Word Paynn didn't seem inclined to let him.

"You allow Kitt Wann to constantly run over you on the race tracks, and then the Dragon Booster defeats you away from them. A poor showing indeed, Moordryd."

"'m…sorryfather…"

"And don't close your eyes when I'm talking to you!" Word wheeled on him. "Pay _attention_, Moordryd. Do not think of these courses as _punishment_, consider them _opportunity _to prove yourself!"

"…sorry…" he mumbled.

"Get out of my sight." Word turned away, staring at one of his screens. "I expect to see you and Cain on the practice tracks next morning. You will win the relay, if you can do nothing else!"

--

Cain flashed him a sympathetic look as Moordryd sank into a chair.

"Cookies?" he offered, along with a glass of chocolate-flavoured dragon's milk.

Moordryd took one and bit into it, noting the Draconee-Yum flavour.

"Your dad's not very happy, is he?" Cain asked worriedly as Moordryd chewed while dipping another cookie in the milk. "He's…_scary_, Moordryd…"

"My father's a Paynn. Like I told you before, we don't _do_ happy."

Saying it didn't sound as impressive as before.

"Anyway, Cain, we _have_ to win that relay." He clenched his fists so hard he didn't realise he was destroying the cookie he held in his hand.

"That's gonna be tough. Kitt Wann and that new dragon, even the stable boy…" Cain's shoulders slumped. "They're getting too good."

"So we have to _stop_ them, Cain." He dipped a finger into the milk and started drawing out patterns on the table. "We could…no, we tried that…we could…no, that involves fire-breathing hydrags from Abandonn…we could…"

"You're tired," Cain pointed out.

"Oh, brilliant observation. I'm _always_ tired these days—Moordryd, just pop around to steal some dragons, yes of course it's godawful in the morning, everyone else is sane and sleeping for the race tomorrow, and you'd better win against bloody Kitt Wann this time, oh, you didn't, I'm going to mag-blast you now, do better next time!" He slammed a fist down on the table. "I hate my life."

"I have an idea," Cain said quietly.

"Fine, let's hear it, I'm sure it's fucking _great_. Hey, I think I've even got it figured out. Why don't we scream and run away again! We could go to Wheat City and make a living baking cookies where the Dragon Booster won't get us! What a clever idea, Cain!"

Cain looked thoughtful. "Hey, yeah. That is a good idea."

Moordryd banged his head into the table. Milk washed over the rim of his glass.

"But it wasn't my idea," Cain continued, getting a cloth to wipe up the spill. "My idea was to map out your father's Citadel. So that you could win all his training courses."

"Yes, and we have the spare time—when?"

"Oh, I don't know. _I_ have spare time," Cain said, wringing out the dampened cloth in the sink. "I guess you could try asking me nicely?"

--

Rivett had escaped somehow, though she'd left the scene as quickly as she could while Artha explained things to Faiar. Several choice curses later and she returned to the scene, standing with Parm as he established their honesty, seething inwardly at the (the third now, or was it even the _fourth_? Scale it!) escape and the fact someone was loose in the city who knew who she was.

"Like the Academy motto says—do justice at all times!" Chute concluded happily. "Pretty drac moves fighting off those wraiths, Artha." She looked across at Kitt, holding Parm's gear pack. "So how'd you and Phistus make it out? We found you'd already escaped when we swung by."

"Parm beat you to it," Kitt said nonchalantly as Beau casually stood on his foot. "Right, Parm?"

"Owaarghpainget_off_aarghow…"

"Sorry he accidentally knocked you out, Phistus," she said. "I couldn't stick around—I just went to tell the Dragon Booster what was going on and hid until I found out I wasn't a wanted woman any more."

"Too bad you didn't join in on the action," Chute told her. "At the Academy, it's all go!"

"We'll find out when we get there," Artha said, grinning. He stretched. "But for now, I guess it's time for us to go home."

--

Our friend seems very upset as I am groomed, that night. "I suppose you want to tell me what all _that_ was about?"

"I'm sorry," Kitt says to him. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes! I'm sure with a nice cast to wear, I'll be considerably less crippled in several months' time." Parm folds his arms. "If that's what I get for attempting to cover your tracks as the Dragon Booster, I'm not so sure I want to do it any more!"

"I'm sorry," she repeats. "The thing is Rivett rescued me."

Lance lets out a gasp. "I was right! We did see him again!"

"I left him tied to a wall, but he got away," she explains. "I'm sorry I sprung it on you, and I'm sorry Beau trod on you."

"Yes yes, I'm sure you are. Now as for the extensive medical treatment I'll no doubt require, I—"

"Oh, stop complaining," Artha says. "Weren't you flat-footed already?"

"Pancake-footed now!" he retorts.

Artha laughs, and I snort in agreement. I was not trying to hurt him; I take Parm up with my tail, hanging him harmlessly upside down.

"Bad dragon!" He flails at me, almost starting to shriek. "Stop! I mean it! Put me down _immediately_!"

"Gently," Kitt says, and I lower him to the ground. She seems cold about the incident; I prod her with my snout to question her about this. "You're…really hurt, Parm? I should have let you just—"

He walks away; clearly he's hardly permanently harmed.

She sighs, though. "We shouldn't have done that," she says softly to me. "We have this power, and then we just hurt our friends like that…"

He was _not_ hurt; I play harder than this with the others, and none of them mind. I do the same to Kitt, holding her upside down as I have done before. She at least does not mind.

"It's still—I'm going to work on that," she says. "We can think about what we do."

Considering it, I suppose so; Parm is after all our friend, and Cyrano is congenial company compared to a certain alternative. I lower her to the ground, carefully.

"Not so much with me, though." She flings her arms around my neck. "Good job today, Beau—no!"

I have her in the air again, swinging my tail; I dump her in front of Artha, eventually, and she brushes straw from her hair as she looks up. "Guess I need to think about what I say as well," she says ruefully as Artha laughs, and joins in his amusement; Wyldfyr snickers also.

--

_We have still not discussed the race_, I say to the ex-Red, his pale scales gleaming in the dark.

_What is there to say? I will not slow for you._

_You will have no _need, I promise him, and fall silent towards sleep.

_Perhaps I should think about it_, I suppose, him being the friend of at least two of my friends. But I am tired, and do not wish to spend time on whatever his problem may be.

--

"This is actually…really good, Cain," Moordryd said, later, looking over the detailed drawing of the Citadel.

"There's an installation of trapping gear in this sector here, and something with a concentration of red draconium behind that wall there—"

"Probably the fire grenades he had us steal from Pyrrah, remember?"

"Oh yeah! And that's where he keeps his control gear, and the wraith lodgings are the lower two floors. There's also the secret passages—" Cain brushed his fingers across the gaps in the walls, some of which Moordryd knew already.

And some he didn't. "What's this one?" he asked, pointing at one running through the centre of the Citadel, down from near his father's bedroom.

"I don't know." Cain shrugged. "It's got some tough security around it, tripwires and level-eight trapping and scorch-capture gear. Pretty old gear, but still fully functional. I think it's a safe or something."

Moordryd frowned. "He's going to know we lost the race as soon as that meeting with Talis Mining finishes, and then he'll be home in about half an hour if he takes a taxi dragon."

"Yeah." Cain shivered. "Moordryd, I'm scared…"

"I'm going to prove myself to him!" Moordryd slammed his hand into the desk. "Cain, navigate for me. I'm going to get into that safe."

--

He climbed through tripwires and dodged scorch gear to shut off alarms, avoiding trapping gear meanwhile until at last he reached his goal.

_Z.P._, the initials on the safe read.

"Cain, I'm there. Heading back now."

Moordryd felt jubilant as he lowered himself back through the security sensors to reach the secret door. Treasure, beyond his expectations—and he'd carried it off _perfectly_.

"Very _good_, Moordryd," his father said. "As disappointed as I am in the racing result—I must say I approve of a little _initiative_."

He tripped on the doorstop and fell to the ground, the safe slipping from his hands and bouncing across the floor, and looked up at his father.

Of _course_ he couldn't manage to do anything right.

"Ah yes, this." His father picked up the safe, turning it over in his hands. "You can tell Cain to leave now if you like; this doesn't concern him. I'd forgotten this entirely," he continued. "It's some of your mother's personal belongings. The lock is standard Paynn Securigear 3.0—able to be opened with the factory combination 2-6-2-1-1-6-1." He twisted open the rusted lid as he spoke, and set it down on the table. "The sapphire pendant I gave her—matched her eyes; some loose change; ancient draconium-amber necklace…"

Moordryd sat down opposite his father, looking with him through the debris his mother had abandoned when she'd disappeared.

"What's this, Father?" He held up a rather large gray object shaped a little like a banana.

Word snatched it away from him. "Ancient draconium technology of very narrow application, Moordryd."

"And these…letters?" Tied with a red ribbon, written on fancy-looking parchment.

"Mine to her, I think." His father took them from him, opening the ribbon for a quick glance at them before tucking them securely into his sleeve.

"And these—wait, that's me, isn't it?" Moordryd looked down at pictures of a chubby white-haired baby crawling on a fluffy black rug he thought he could remember. "Gotta hide these from Cain." He reached out to shuffle the pile over to himself, but his father was too quick for him and snatched one from the top of the pile, a particularly humiliating one with his nappy barely on as he drooled on the head of a pink-haired doll.

_Marianna Susan! Magna Draconis, I loved that toy…_

"Hmm. My current wallpaper is becoming rather tedious on my screens," Word commented.

"Father, no!" Moordryd pleaded, but by then Word had tucked the humiliating viddgraph into his robes as well.

A set of dragonpearl hairclips; Moordryd hid one in his sleeve, because they really were very nice. An embroidered baby bootee.

"Yours," his father said, as if it needed explanation. "Ah, those days…"

A racing viddgraph, her competing in the Leap of Lorius, pale red hair flying around her head.

"She was both brave and skilled," his father said. "If only you were more like her."

A scrap of paper; Moordryd picked it up, and realised it must have fallen out of the ribboned pile.

_My love it is only a few hours until we meet again but in concern for our daughter I still worry…_

"Your _daughter_?"

He handed the letter over to Word. He'd had a _sister_, once?

His father laughed. "It was while she was pregnant with you; we both wanted a daughter, though she seemed happy enough when you were born. Perhaps if you had been, you would have inherited more of her advantages…"

"You wanted me to be a _girl_?"

"Naturally." His father tapped his claws across the letter. "Human women are lighter, more agile, more enduring; female dragons are all those as well as far more intelligent than male."

Moordryd supposed he could have guessed that from Word's honorary membership in Dragon City's CLAWEM (CLub to Advance Women Eviscerating Men, which Pyrrah and Marianis were also known to attend), but he'd only assumed that his father had wanted to eavesdrop on take-over-the-world plans.

"I'm sorry I'm not your perfect daughter," he said, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Yes. It is a shame," Word said, looking at an elaborate bracelet in smoked purple and grey draconium as though he could imagine it once again on Moordryd's mother's wrist.

"So what's this?" Moordryd said after a while, withdrawing a sparkly pink armband from the bottom of the safe, wrapped in a white scalesilk handkerchief.

"Oh, yes. It was very important to your mother, she told me," his father said, apparently having not even noticed Moordryd's sulking. "Funny. I never saw her without it."

There it was in that picture of her in the Leap of Lorius, and a shape under her sleeve as she played with him in the rug, on her shoulder as she pulled down her shirt to breastfeed.

Moordryd slipped it on his arm, under the sleeve of his racing jacket. _Not as good as your mother_, he'd been told—but _she_ hadn't rejected him for not being a girl, and he could have her bracelet.

It felt strangely warm. Like he'd placed fairy floss in liquid form around his arm. Like it was fizzling around him, reading his mind to see if he was his mother's son, after all. Like it—_oh scales_—had some serious side effect she hadn't bothered to warn about—

--

"And, Dragon Booster, now you know the secret plans of the Light Blue Human Empire, I thought we might—"

The man, tall and dark with bright yellow eyes and a chin that looked like it had been carved out of granite, leaned towards him, his lips oddly soft and sensitive in his face. "You need say no more, Tran."

A room, a bed done (tackily) in yellow and blue; they fell towards each other as though with the ease of long practice. His clothes disappeared from him in an instant, showing they'd never truly existed; his partner smiled both at his daring and the physical form he had chosen for the time being.

With a growl at the back of his throat, he flung himself on his partner, helping him untie the straps on his battle-gear in a flurry of limbs. The dark olive skin, tanned from days in the battlefield, his hair that unique shade of deep blue and scent of brassberry soap, the corded muscles—mm, so strong—starting to pin _him_ down in return—

_Wait_, Moordryd thought. He probably shouldn't be turned on like this. But there the evidence was, right in front of him.

Slightly larger (especially in comparison with the _other_, uh, evidence) and less circumcised than he'd have expected, but _there_. A surprise.

"You tonight," Tierre grunted, finally kicking off his left boot and releasing him from the firm hold of his arms. "Looks like you're morphed for it."

"All right—"

He lay on top of his partner, the scars across the golden-brown back visible; he settled atop his shoulderblades, and concentrated as he altered the chemical composition and physical form of his body.

Oil-sweated skin between them, and then nothing at all; it was as though he wasn't merely _inside_ his partner, but surrounding; their forms had altered, both together as one as he felt himself building towards ecstasy.

His moment came; he manipulated his partner to feel the same, and they gasped together as he returned his form to another's, imprinting it on his back as though writing indelibly on stone.

"_Yes_. That was—great—"

He smiled. "If you've got the energy—and inclination—I suppose you could reciprocate?"

The man under him easily flipped him over onto his back, those calloused hands scraping along his ribs, looking at his body as though to devour it. "Drakkus-at-night, you're always…beautiful…"

And then, their eyes met as they looked into each other's face.

A cry. "_That_ form?"

--

He woke up with a crashing headache, strapped into a chair in his father's study.

"Father?...Let me go?"

His father turned back from his screens. "Your middle name, Moordryd?" he fired off sharply.

"Drakkus," Moordryd responded automatically. "Moordryd Drakkus Paynn."

His father pressed a button on his control panel, and to Moordryd's relief he was released.

"Why tie me down? What just happened?"

"I was _worried_, Moordryd," his father said, smiling in a rather creepy manner. "But now I can see it's merely improved you—and I know the truth now."

"What?" Moordryd stumbled as he stood up; his balance felt all wrong as he tried to walk.

"Look at yourself. You resemble her, now. My…_daughter_."

He looked down at himself, resting his hand on the chair's arm.

"Meorganna Syntence Paynn?" Word asked dryly as Moordryd collapsed to the ground in a dead faint. "Perhaps now I can properly commence your training. And expect grandchildren."

--

"Wow." Cain looked down at his chest. Yet again. "You've got _boobies_."

"I noticed."

"So can I touch them?"

His best friend was holding a hand out to his chest. Moordryd stopped suddenly, stared at him to make sure he was serious, and then folded his arms protectively across his body as he continued walking at an increased pace.

"Aww, don't be like that!" Cain complained, following along with him. "This is the closest either of us are gonna get to a real girl, right?"

"Too close for my liking," Moordryd muttered. Then again, he had a rather bitter memory of Swayy slapping his face and calling him a foul little albino wanker several months ago when he'd asked her out, though at least she hadn't let it interfere with their Crew relations. He could probably at least…_investigate_ this body, right?

He looked down at himself speculatively. Boobies, not the largest he'd seen but more than Wann's at least (_hah, beating her this once_!), fit figure (_obviously_), slender waistline and nice hair…

…Yeah. He was _smokin'_, baby.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Cain crowed. "You're thinking about it, I can tell! Do you think the multiple orgasm thing is true? Do girls' nipples go all hard when you poke them? Do your boobies jiggle like—"

"Shut up, Cain," Moordryd said coldly; his lieutenant obeyed, though his lips were still moving. "And get me a mirror," he commanded.

Yes. He would definitely…_investigate_ this.

--

"And—yes, _excellent_ jump there, Artha too; just remember, your red thruster gear is absolutely _vital_ to make the jump and finish, instead of decreasing the draconium quotient I advise you to save enough energy to continuously use it from the jump to the finish, although you must not overload your dragons…"

"We got it, Parm!" The ex-Red makes the next jump in the practice track, neck-and-neck with us; we fly zig-zagged down the building, leaping back to the street.

Wyldfyr's thrusters activate, as do ours; the dragon is _very_ fast, but mag-channelling to our own thruster gear we are able to keep pace, and then with rappel gear we leap to slide into first place.

The ex-Red growls at me; I snort in triumph at our victory.

"And that's more or less it. In the actual race, however, Kitt, you will _not_ have access to that overhanging bridge on which you hung your rappel gear, therefore I advise against that move; Artha, well done. Now I'd like you to both try again from the start, because that corner was a little shabby, especially with the malfunction in Sharpfyr's turning gear…"

Kitt yawns. "Thanks, Parm, but it's not so long 'till sunset," she says. "I think Beau and I know the track by now. Beau?"

We've faced challenges much tougher than this, and our friends have abandoned their snit; it's all too easy for us. I nod.

"I'll do the practice again," Artha says. "Lance, can you get the spare balance gear for me?"

"You're going out patrolling, I presume?" Parm says to Kitt. "I would _recommend_ the extra practice, but I suppose you can easily summon us if there is need."

"Thanks, Professor," she says. I leap away, diving into the city's narrowing streets. "Later, boys!"

--

It was probably, Moordryd decided, nothing short of narcissistic and possibly downright incestuous to consider one's own female form in this manner.

Still, it wasn't as though he hadn't already had three full-length mirrors and a waist-height version of the statue of his head over the Crew-quarters in his bedroom.

He was still the same height, thankfully enough, though his balance was off; his hairstyle also remained the same (_well, why _would _it change anyway?_). His face seemed a little softer, more closely resembling his mother's in the pictures, and he thought that with hair a little pinker he could have passed for the woman's younger sister (_bad thought bad thought!_). A very nice figure, perfectly shaped breasts with no sag to them (did that come later?), and, well…certainly a bit _empty_, uh, _there_, but still, an actual _girl_'s body guaranteed not to slap his face or laugh at him.

Magna Draconis, Cain was going to be so jealous.

An hour later, he was firmly decided on the merits of the female body.

--

Two muggings, an averted disaster in a hall double-booked to the Flares and the Fish, and a rogue taxi-dragon needing a bit of roaring at later, we see our friends turning up.

All but one, that is.

"Artha's _boring_!" Lance says through the VIDDcomm. "He just says he wants to practice—again."

_Guess we'll have some competition_, Kitt signals wryly to me. I swish my tail; it's not that I begrudge Artha, but rather that dragon; why do I constantly feel the urge to leap on him and claw out his ugly yellow black-edged eyes?

"All right, let's focus," says Parm. "I'm decoding transmissions from Dragon City Security—there's a gear robbery over at Talis Citadel, plus a Down City rockfall, details not forthcoming…"

_Down City_, Kitt signals; it's her homeground, and the last accident there involved trapped people.

We travel down to do the mag-lift, as necessary if not as exciting; and then Parm realises that the sender of the transmissions was the same person as the last time simultaneous Sun and Down City events reached us. Kitt recalls the rogue faction of the Inner Order who have been known to infiltrate Dragon City Security to carry out black market raids under Khatah's nose, and we meet up with him to find the location of their hideout and recover the missing gear.

Another fight; we win again.

Dawn at last, and we're ready to return to the stables; though tired, there has been nothing given to us that we cannot do. _Drakkus himself could not defeat us a second time_, I vow, _and soon we will be everything Mortis wishes_.

Kitt returns to her normal form, laughing in exhilaration. "Good night, Beau," she says as we prepare for sleep. "Where's Artha?"

Lance yawns, but suppresses it. "I guess we could—go on a Quest to look for him? Maybe he's been kidnapped by the giant evil purple dragon of legend, deadly enemy of the Silver Dragon Booster Ranger…"

"Someone's been playing too many VIDDgames," Kitt says, ruffling his hair. "I think you should go to sleep."

"It is just as well it isn't a school night," Parm adds. "We should not allow you to follow us the whole night long."

"But I wanna help…"

"Yeah, and you did." Kitt yawns too. "Let's call your brother and see what's up."

"Don't worry about it."

Artha enters, dark circles under his eyes, though Wyldfyr seems in fine form. "Sorry, guys. I guess the patrol went off fine—I was just practicing, that's all…" He yawns heavily. "Bedtime now, I think."

_Maybe we will win on the track tomorrow instead of you_, the ex-Red says to me.

I ignore him as I sleep.

We will certainly defeat all we want to defeat.

--

"Cain, can you pull harder…" Moordryd managed through gritted teeth.

"I thought girly corsets were supposed to make them go _out_ rather than in." Cain obediently tugged on the laces. "Hey, that'd look good…"

"_No_, Cain." His friend was actually getting pretty good about Not Looking At The Body, but he hadn't risen to Crew-leader without keeping a strict lookout for possible misbehaviour.

"Hey," Cain said suddenly; Moordryd could see in the mirror that his gaze was towards his shoulder, and so he allowed him to speak. "That's a special armband from one of the ancients."

"Why yes, Cain. I didn't exactly have an _operation_ to do this to myself, did I now?"

"It's a special armband," Cain repeated. "Maybe it's like what the Dragon Booster uses to get his ancient powers of legend."

"Oh, yeah. Totally. Maybe I can just say Release the Sparkly Pink and feel bolts of sparkly pink draconium charging me up to ten hundred gigadracs…"

The amulet was suddenly warm on his arm. He didn't bother reaching up to it; he'd already tried to pull it off many times.

"Maybe it's something like Pink Transformation Magic," Cain continued thoughtfully.

Another sudden bolt of heat. He flapped his hand over the skin to cool it.

"Oh yeah! Pink Transformation Magic, Sparkles Unite! Something absolutely _ridiculous_ like that, because nobody's that…"

"Uh, Moordryd?"

He looked into the mirror, and then down at himself.

Pink armour covered him from head to toe, androgynously wound around his body in a way that made him seem neither male nor female.

"Oh, ha _ha_," said Moordryd-alias-Meorganna, and buried his head in her hands. "The universe hates me."

--

After at last figuring out how to stop the effect (_Pretty Sparkly Pink Armour Magic Reversal…please?_), he hastened down to the Crew-meeting disguised as himself (_oh why does the universe hate me?_), to announce his withdrawal from the Academy competition.

"You're just being a coward!" Swayy folded her arms. "Wann's getting too good. Someone needs to take her down!"

"I didn't say I'd stop fighting the _Dragon Booster_," Moordryd retorted in his lowest possible voice. (Magna Draconis, the corset was _tight_ on him. Maybe Wann had an advantage after all. He'd pass out if this went on too long.) "She hangs out with him. We'll get her then."

"Or we can arrange a little accident," Rancydd suggested.

Moordryd waved his hand to silence him. "No. We don't need to. There's one more thing I'd like to throw against her. You'll see my father's little surprise next race."

He stood. "And until then—well, you have dragons to steal, don't you? Now get out!"

--

"All right, unlace me. But no touching!" Moordryd flopped sulkily on the bed, giving up on the intricate knots the armour seemed to have tied as a side effect. "My _darling cousin Meorganna_, Father says, _all the way from Stone City_. Worse, he's going to _train me specifically_ for the role."

"Well, there's been mag-charged equipment moved into the East Wing recently," Cain supplied. "With that and the anti-grav generators, I guess you'll need Aero and shielding gear magged onto Decepshun."

"Thanks." Moordryd pulled on one of his old shirts, feeling himself starting to flop around now out of the corset's confines. "And either go buy me some bras or raid Swayy's closet, all right?"

Cain gulped. "I'll get back to you on that as soon as I decide which scares me less."

"As long as it's soon."

Moordryd left the bedroom, as ready as he could be for the training session.

--

"I can't _believe_ the entire race was postponed just for a late entry." Kitt sighed as she sipped her hot chocolate in the teashop just off the tracks, unamused at being told that an earthquake in the Green Mountains had stopped the mystery competitor from arriving on time. "Just because she's apparently some bigwig's niece…"

"To be fair, her record appears to be flawless," Parm said, looking at the statistics flashing across his screen.

"Appears to be?" Artha asked lazily, reaching for a clawmuffin.

"I say appears to be because I can barely believe it!" Parm said. "An almost perfect record, enough to nearly qualify her for the Elite Class track—and yet I can find no trace of forgery. _Yet_," he added darkly.

Artha shrugged. "They'll investigate if she's not perfect," he said, past his mouthful. "She's not going to win this one!"

"And in the meantime you can compete in the skills race tomorrow, to round off your position in the points standing," Parm said. "Perfectly acceptable."

'I'm just scaled off that we practiced for nothing." Kitt sighed again. "And you know what? We're way in the lead, and Artha's gone up to seventh ranking now Moordryd's quit. I'm crimefighting instead between now and then."

"Be careful, though," Parm warned. "This new racer may be a tough opponent!"

Kitt shrugged. "We'll just do the Skills events, see how those play out. How about it, Artha?"

He raised his milkshake. "Good enough for me."

--

"Well _done_, daughter. I can see that these skills will serve you well in the race."

A week. A week of this exhausting punishment, the learning of mag-techniques foreign to him under his father's direction, who had adjusted disturbingly quickly to having a daughter rather than a son.

A daughter he thought was approaching Academy-class, at least. He supposed that was one slight benefit, but he was tired enough to feel that wasn't exactly _benefit_.

"The race is tomorrow, Father," she said. "Any more advice?"

"Just run through my mag-training course one last time—and then get some sleep, Meorganna. You'll need to be ready."

He took a deep breath as he and Decepshun made ready for the course; the amulet's hidden heat seemed to surround them like a glove, and they flung themselves through an ocean of magbursts. Drawing on Decepshun's energy, he created a double force-shield to protect them, and then turned the shields inwards to act as a mag-drain, letting the power flow through them.

Enemy silhouettes appeared in the sky; he leaped up to face them, and conjured up a series of mag-bolts as he spun among them.

A sudden gap in the ground below. He concentrated on widening the mag-stream below them, shaping it into a dark glider that carried them more gently down.

Spikes loomed below them; he activated Aero gear and thrusters simultaneously, turning the glider into a rocket. The air ripped a sound from his throat as they went up almost parallel to the wall, leaping out to continue the course. More mag-bursts flew at him, and then it was quickly over as he and Decepshun panted at the end.

"Very well done," her father said. "Remember all you have learned—and win tomorrow!"

--

The oven was empty.

He let the door swing back with a groan.

"Cain!"

His lieutenant made a sleepy appearance on the screen. "What? Do you realise what time this is?—Oh, Moordryd. Meorganna, whatever."

"Yeah. Did you save dinner for me?" He'd left Decepshun with as much dragonfood as she could eat, and apparently the Dragon Eye cafeteria had been serving mushroom pies tonight; he wished he hadn't had to miss that.

"They ate it all. You want me to come up?"

"Whatever." Freezer contents: one loaf of bread, something green and ambiguous, two ice-flaked packets of mystery synth-vegetable…

Footsteps behind him. He abandoned the search, turning to see Cain in the doorway.

"So you're hungry. Tough—"

"To stay on a girl's diet? Ha ha bloody ha."

Cain looked hurt. "I was going to say, tough _practice_."

"Just find something edible." Moordryd sat on top of the table, watching his friend explore the nearly-bare cupboards. Cain still wore a nightcap, blue with a purple bobble on the end; he contemplated telling him about it, but was distracted when he reappeared from the depths of the shelves with a bag of cookies in his hand.

"Slightly dry vanilla with macadamia nuts," Moordryd commented, biting into the first one. His least favourite.

"I did find this as well." Cain held up a transparent flask containing red liquid, and placed it over the heating element. "Preserved cherry juice with red draconium energizer. Should kick in about…oh, tomorrow?"

"Hand it over." Moordryd grabbed a glass from behind himself and held it out. "Non-alcoholic, right? Not, of course, that I care—it's just that they might test me tomorrow…" That, and his limited experience of alcohol consisted of small champagne flutes at his father's occasional dinner parties, but he wasn't going to admit that to Cain.

"That's how I make it," said Cain. He looked down at the flask. "But now that I think about it, I'm not sure if I…"

"Just pour." He'd only have one glass anyway.

Cain reached out for the flask with an oven mitt, testing its heat; he nodded, satisfied, and poured some for both of them.

"Thanks." Moordryd took a sip; much better than the cookies, and nice and warm in the cold night.

"This is kind of fun," Cain said absently. "Like midnight feasts in those books—you know, the ones you used to like? _The Twins Go To Finishing School_?"

"You _read_ those?" Moordryd asked, surprised; it had been _years_.

"Yeah. They were fun." Cain reached out for another cookie. "But kinda girly."

"They were _not_ girly!"

"You're very girly, Moordryd," Cain said composedly, taking a long drink of the cherry juice. "The hair gel…the mirrors…the corsetry…your father's assumption you'll eventually procreate now…"

"Says the guy in the fluffy nightcap!" Moordryd reached across triumphantly and pulled it from his head. "Who cooks rather decent cherry juice, I have to admit." He held out his glass for more, and drank it down.

"I'm starting to wonder if it's cherry," Cain said, but grinned with red-stained lips. "Who cares anyway, right?"

"Yeah. Girls together!" Moordryd waved the cap in the air, and then realised his present physical form. Cain had been getting even better at Not Looking, which made him feel almost like he was himself again; unfortunately, the armlet still wasn't budging. He experimentally pulled on it again.

"And you have to remember to call me Meorganna tomorrow," he continued. "Remember, my cousin from Stone City."

"I got it." Cain _did_ look, then, but turned his head away quickly; they both took another long drink of the cherry.

"Do you think the others would laugh at me if they knew, Cain?" Moordryd asked after a while.

Cain considered the question. "Blarre, yeah, for sure. Rancydd, maybe not. Don't know about Swayy."

"I'd like to see _them_ try it." Moordryd looked down at herself, again. "Do you think I'm still prettier than them?" He lifted a foot up to the table, watching her leggings slide up across pale, smooth skin.

"Well, yeah. Your mom must have been totally hot." Cain poured out two more glasses for them.

"Eww_…" _Moordryd shook his head; _that_ one really put a crimp in his self-admiration. "So are you bringing up my mom because you really think she was hot, because even though she might have been that's _eww_ considering she or more probably he is like fifty now, or was it just because you like _me_ and want us to get turned off that, because I really think we're kind of getting turned on now?"

Cain looked bemused.

"No, it makes logical sense," Moordryd said, holding up a finger. Magna Draconis, he was tired—or at least brain-tired, because his body still felt alert enough.

_The cherry stuff…probably wasn't_, a part of his mind whispered, but he decided against letting that part of him have fair play.

"I'm hot," he continued. "I'm definitely, still, very very pretty."

"Yes, Moordryd. Do you want me to run and get your hair gel?"

"And you…well, you've been pretty decent about this whole thing, all things considered," Moordryd said. He giggled—there was no other word for it; it seemed to bubble up from somewhere inside her, like a rippling stream of blue draconium.

Cain moved back slightly in his seat.

"So…"

Moordryd took his friend's hand, and placed it on her thigh. Cain didn't move away.

"Moordryd, we're…friends, right? Still friends?" he yelped.

"No, I promise, Cain. We're still friends." He reached out a hand to touch Cain's face. "We'll _always_ be friends."

"Okay."

Cain let her fall from the table into his lap.

"Now, you can do that thing you did when I hurt my back falling off Decepshun—yes, that's pretty good," Moordryd said, leaning into Cain's strokings like an arrogant kitten. Touch was exciting, sensations all over her body seeming to pool at her centre, desperately warm. "Yeah—_touch _me—"

"I drunk we're think," Cain commented.

"So we just won't do anything I might regret later," Moordryd snapped. "Give me your hand…"

Interesting; his lieutenant had apparently figured out how to remove a bra at some point in the course of purchasing them.

"Pretty good, Cain—that took me a while to work out…"

"Yeah, I asked the salesgirl how they worked to make sure, they look kind of _weird_ just hanging there and I wasn't sure if that was what you wanted…"

He giggled again. "That's really, uh, dedicated." He reached down to touch his friend, rather surprised as he removed the clasps on his overalls; still, it was only fair to reciprocate. "A bit lower, Cain…to the right…no, your right…"

"Moordryd, _please_…Magna Draconis, yes…"

"_Cain._ That's—yeah, that's good, and your _mouth_…"

"Mmm, yeah—oh—"

"'S okay, both guys…or not…keep going…"

It was a rather pleasant drunken stupor, Moordryd considered, resting curled into the crook of his best friend's arm, looking at his bra hanging from the fridge door across the room following a night of what he was sure qualified as at least comparable debauchery to his previous experiences.

That being said, there was still one more thing left to note.

"Cain? I think I'm a lesbian…"

--

**A/N:** The organization CLAWEM is based on our world's SCUM, Society for Cutting Up Men (satire; as the saying goes, if you feel attacked by feminism, it's probably a counter-attack).


	4. Chapter Four

He stood in the stables, leaning on Decepshun as he fought for control.

_So this was what a hangover felt like…_

He'd heard Swayy's scream when she had come into the kitchen early in the morning in the hope of leftover mushroom pie, and remembered Cain shielding him from view as she rushed out of the room, presumably to spread the gossip to the other Dragon Eyes about Cain's new girlfriend.

He had a headache. He'd been _stupid_, and for some reason Cain must've been upset with him as well as with Swayy, because he hadn't followed him out here and offered some _help_.

It was the _race_ today, damnit. He was going to lose and it wasn't fair and he just wanted to go sleep for a week and Cain couldn't be bothered to help out…

Did the Dragon Booster ever have days like this? Or bloody _Wann_, who was going to make him look like an idiot on the track yet _again_, even if he wasn't strictly him right now?

Probably not, he concluded grumpily, though he'd seen Wann celebrating with Pyrrah and the Flares a few times, comfortably after races she'd won. But thinking of the Dragon Booster, that gave him an idea…

_Meorganna Syntence_, he told himself. _Perfect beautiful Meorganna, Stone City Champion who thinks Down City brats are _nothing_…_

"Pink Transformation Magic, Sparkles Unite," he said reluctantly, and felt the armour gather around her.

That felt better. A great power boost, getting him awake and ready to face the world. Now if it only lasted, it'd be _perfect_.

Decepshun roared, as though echoing his mood change; Moordryd turned to stroke her, and saw the unintended side effect.

Gold-pink spikes grew out of Decepshun's forehead, and the red designs she'd chromo-shifted on her had disappeared, replaced by bright pink-and-purple streaks along her side; even her claws were perfectly manicured, in palest pastel turquoise. She looked like some Sun City fashion dragon, for Drakkus' sake.

But if he changed her back, the altered design wouldn't be there any more, and he was running out of time.

"Pretty Sparkly Pink Dragon," she improvised (Magna Draconis, this _sucked_, the Dragon Booster couldn't talk anyway and probably just had to get dressed up, lucky bastard), "Magic Paint Alteration and at least get rid of the manicure pleasepleaseplease nice armlet lovely armlet good armlet…"

Decepshun flicked out her tail (why was there apparently a _flower_ design on the end of it!), stretching; and then as Meorganna watched, she seemed to shrink, the spikes shrinking to small nubs as her design settled to something more akin to the original paint job. Albeit with pink rather than red. They'd think Decepshun was a weak dual-breed at first glance, unstable and fragile light red combined with often own-willed and fickle black.

_Ah well. At least they'll underestimate me for a little while._

"Thanks, armlet," he said, patting her shoulder approximately where it was normally stuck. "Now, maybe you could try some Magic Dragon Stasis while I get back to racer form? Pretty please?"

She furrowed his brow, trying to remember the combination that had finally gotten rid of the armour the last time. "Pretty Sparkly Pink Armour," he began, trying very hard not to grimace, "Magic…"

It changed by itself before he finished, moving around his body as though it had a mind of its own, manipulating him in some rather questionable locations.

Meorganna looked down at herself; a mostly-_black_ jumpsuit, she noticed in awe, with only a little ornamentation on boots and belt. Even with his small hand mirror hanging on the belt.

It'd changed her hair, too, a shade of, ah, pale red. It made him look very like her mother (uh, _other father_). But the more disguise the better, he supposed; he could _definitely_ forgive the armlet for that small detail.

"Much appreciated," he said, stroking her shoulder again, which seemed to send a slight shudder through the jumpsuit. "Come on, Decepshun—er, Subvershun for now. Let's ride."

--

"Cain? Talk to me, I'm nearing drop-off point." He was running fourth, Wann just in front of him; she'd actually tried to be friendly to the new girl, which had been terribly disorienting until she'd told her to fuck off and quit trying to sabotage her. The snide retort to that had been almost refreshing.

No reply. He looked back to Wann. They'd briefly exchanged blows once, enough to convince her he was serious without spending too long in case she'd win; right now they were both concentrating on the narrow hairpin bends as the track spun around like a corkscrew.

Good, they were nearly there. He accelerated suddenly, ahead of her, and reached out to mag the rocket at the side of the track. A trick he'd used before, and she was too much of an old hand to not guard against it; but he stared in the hand mirror to precisely mag it, pursuing her until she finally leaped away, drawing level with him as the rocket crashed harmlessly to the ground.

He cursed. They had to…

She rammed him, pushing him and Decepshun to the side of the track. He took a deep breath. He could—

Risky, but no choice. Thruster on one side, and activate Aero gear to rip across the dragon's back—

Wann's dragon roared in pain, and he was free, dashing ahead; they surely hadn't passed it yet. Thank the Magna Draconis Cain had done enough research and bribery to know the track obstacles ahead of time.

A quick mag-bolt to the concealed target to the side, and she mock-saluted Wann as mining-use webbing spread across the trap to pin her within it.

Meorganna took the first jump, harder with only thruster gear to rely on now her Aero had been damaged, but nothing she couldn't handle; they took a flawless landing, passing Wulph and then Pyrrah, easy after a mag-bolt sent Phorrj skidding off the track.

Halfway there by his reckoning. Why wasn't Cain _answering_? He switched the comm off; screw him if he wasn't going to bother.

And then Wann behind him, riding hard and fast as she caught up, the determined look on her face that he knew all too well.

"Long time no see!" he called cheerily to her. "Want to go down again?"

"Sorry, I have better taste in women!" she yelled back, sailing past him; Moordryd blushed slightly, realizing what he'd said.

He fell forward as Decepshun sped up, noting too late that the track was narrowing, a sharp slope to the jump.

_Time for plan two._

They leaped together, almost flying through the air, Decepshun's claws scraping across the wall to stabilise her; she magged him off, and Wann met her midair.

She sent him spinning back, though Decepshun still held him up; and he cloaked what he held in her hand in a shimmering mag-field. She didn't see it. Not soon enough.

Not until the level seven disrupter blast exploded over Wann's Aero gear just before she reached the other side of the jump, and she was falling, too far down to continue the race. He saw her chute gear blossoming above her just before he leaped safely to the track.

_Did you see that, Cain? I'm going to win this!_

"Kitt Wann, down halfway through!" he heard Budge screaming from the stands as he passed through. "I don't believe it! Ladies and gentlemen, the Stone City champion has point leader Kitt Wann out of the race!"

More corkscrew curves and daring leaps greeted him as she and Decepshun kept to the track, cheered by the victory.

"Hey, you!"

The Penn brat with his thrusters on full, finally catching up just a few minutes before the final jump.

"What? Oooh, was that your _girlfriend_ I just got rid of?" Meorganna said, noting that the girly voice rather improved the mock.

"She's my friend!" Penn retorted, displaying considerably more stubbornness than originality, and sent a mag-bolt at her.

"That was great, Penn! I almost felt that!" To tell the truth, he'd managed to deflect it only by pure instinct, and it was news to him that Penn was that good.

But she was, of course, better. Decepshun magged her up again, and she sent a flurry of mag-bolts in Penn's direction. She couldn't afford to power down now, and truth be told with the armlet around her and the adrenaline rush of actually winning, he felt ready to face five of him at once head-on. And at least one of Wann.

Penn _was_ good. They fought in the air, shielding and throwing mag-attacks at each other, Penn getting in a few good hits.

_What, did the Dragon Booster give him extra training or something? He's getting too good!_

He'd have to stop it soon. Meorganna couldn't be seen losing at something.

Of corse, he had a plan for this as well. The last leap, approaching; Moordryd spun, dodging a flurry of Penn's mag-bolts, and launched just one.

At his thruster gear, which fell satisfactorily into the depths of the city below.

"Enjoy losing, loser!" he called, more out of elation than any desire for imaginative taunts, and took the jump, making the longest leap his best as she and Decepshun glided through the air. He could see the finish line, now.

And hear screaming. That _was_ promising. Was Penn really stupid enough to try it anyway? He risked a glance behind himself; a second wouldn't make any difference to her first place.

And gaped in shock. Penn was screaming, but his dragon sure wasn't; mag-energy extended below them, taking them past the leap in full style.

"And Artha Penn on Sharpfyr performs a full mag-push to get him past the jump! I think we've seen it all today! Now Penn's racing forward—and will he get a first place after that amazing move? No—Meorganna's too far ahead—but was that a _stunt_!"

Thruster gear giving her a last-minute push. _Finish the race, think about it later._ Artha Penn, only two dragons behind her—and now a first place, to the crowd's cheers and Budge's continuous carrying-on.

"Winner, Meorganna Syntence! Second place, Artha Penn! You heard it first from me, race fans—Meorganna's record and this put her top of the points table, ahead of Kitt Wann! Artha Penn slides up to fifth place, a racer to watch, fans, as the Academy competition tightens!"

Meorganna opened, and then shut, her mouth. She'd actually _done it_.

"Yay!"

He flung up her arms in jubilation, taking every bit of congratulations flung her way. _Sponsor offer, Crew-opening spot, welcome to Dragon City…_

--

Meorganna gave a yawn as the fans and reporters drifted away, their curiosity sated. He walked aimlessly to the med-tent; nothing like a good gloat, and chances were Wann would be there getting her dragon fixed up.

She was, gently stroking his neck as she talked to him; white bandages were being laid across his back by one of the med-techs.

And in a corner of it, Cain, sitting next to a bucket and looking up at the VIDD-replays of the race.

"Why didn't you answer me, Cain?" he called out, walking up to his so-called _friend_. "I thought I could rely on you to be there in the race!"

Cain turned to answer, looking pale for him. "I tried to call when I couldn't make it," he said weakly. "But you weren't answering."

Yeah, he'd switched it off after Cain hadn't answered. Didn't _explain_ anything, though.

"I called you first! You should have been there from the _start_!" he yelled, jabbing a finger into Cain's shoulder. "I was depending on you!"

Cain winced. "Stop, that hurts…"

Moordryd watched in horror, taking several steps backward as Cain leaned forward and vomited into the bucket.

"Cain? What's _wrong_ with…"

"Food poisoning," a med-tech flipping through a magazine said, looking up. "A trace of mould in some macadamia-nut biscuits, apparently. He shouldn't have even been here today."

'I did try to call," Cain said weakly and indistinctly. "But, you know. Congrats anyway. You're a real _friend_, Meorganna. Thanks so very much."

Sounded like sarcasm. Moordryd frowned. He'd only made a reasonable assumption. And why food poisoning, anyway?

"He can't have food poisoning," Moordryd said to the med-tech. "I ate the cookies too last night."

"Maybe it was an allergic reaction, then," she said, continuing to flip through the pages. "Nothing we can do, just a twenty-four hour thing. Get him home, will you? Normally we just fix up racers here."

"All right, Cain," Moordryd said, averting his eyes as Cain wiped his hand across his mouth. "Just follow me, all right? Try not to puke on anything. We'll discuss your definition of friendship later."

Kitt Wann was blocking their exit.

"Get out of my way," Moordryd sneered, making to push her aside; but she stood her ground.

"Meorganna from Stone City, huh?" she said. "I heard you were related to Word Paynn."

"He's my uncle," Meorganna answered. "Push off."

"_And_ you don't have a Stone City accent," Wann continued.

"My parents were immigrants and I was homeschooled and Uncle doesn't like the accent," Meorganna answered, the backstory coming easily enough to her.

"And your hair is kind of obviously dyed—"

"Yeah, I'm guessing you know all about hair dye—" Moordryd said; he knew there were viddgraphs out there, from her early racing days back when she'd had straw-coloured hair in pigtails and acne like you wouldn't believe. Too bad Meorganna wouldn't be able to put them somewhere really embarrassing, like the race bulletin board. _Great Fashion Disasters Of The Ages, starring Kitt Wann, losing dragon racer…_

"And in spite of apparently only arriving, like, two days ago, and being the reason why the race was delayed, you're acting like you and Cain are old friends or something."

"Yeah. We've been, uh, pen pals."

"_Moordryd_," Kitt Wann said, taking another step towards him. He felt like he was about to be torn apart by a pink-and-blue avalanche.

"Uh, yes?" he said, then realised the mistake. "I mean, yeah, Moordryd's back with my uncle right now…"

She stepped too close to him, and ripped open the front of his outfit.

Moordryd liked to assume her ensuing reaction was at least equal parts jealousy and horror.

"Oh shit I'm sorry I thought you were Moordryd I didn't mean to—"

--

A five-race suspension from the major Academy competitions for sexual assault. Of a minor no less, thanks to Meorganna's faked birth certificate. To be allowed back only on strict probation. He saw the headline spreading across the news boards as he returned happily to the Citadel, humming happily and barely caring that _Racer Rock_ sounded odd set five tones above his normal pitch.

"Brilliantly manoeuvred, Meorganna," her father said, hearing her footsteps as he gazed at his screens. "You've knocked your strongest competitor out of the running and gained a first place. Only deal with the Penn brat and the Academy position will be all but yours."

"He's only in fifth place," Meorganna reminded him. "And I have something else to show you, Father."

--

"Um. Sorry I'm late?" Kitt says weakly as we return to Mortis' temple. "It wasn't what it looked like, I really thought she was—"

"We know what it looked like," Mortis says, without turning around. "Artha, you did extremely well in the race today. Your father would be proud of you."

"Thanks," he says, shooting Kitt a guilty glance in spite of the compliment. "You know, I really should go. Apparently I have an interview for one of the news broadcasts, don't know if it'll make it on there or not but…"

He and the ex-Red head for the exit; I glare at the dragon.

_You were lucky today. Congratulations._

He only flicks his tail in reply as he exits.

"And I've got to go do some work on the—thing," Parmon adds. "Lance, you've got homework, right?"

"A little, but—"

"No buts, I'll help you with it," he says. "Come on, Lance. Kitt, I thought you didn't do—so badly, in the race…"

She sighs as they follow Artha out. "Okay, Mortis. Let's go straight into the lecture."

"You should not take this lightly." He still doesn't turn around. "You were meant to end crime. Today you committed one."

"I know," she says. "And...to be honest, if a guy did that to me, I'd be mad they only got a five-race suspension. But…" She stops. "No, no buts. I did something wrong. I won't stand here and make excuses."

"Furthermore, Beau was harmed."

"I know." Her hand rests on my bandages. "Actually I feel worse about it than stripping Meorganna. I needed to be better. He shouldn't have been hurt because of me."

I don't mind so much; it was not too bad a hurt. Though admittedly she _is_ usually better than that.

He turns on her, at last. "You're becoming impulsive. Overconfident. How many times did you practice that track, compared to Artha?"

"Not as much. You're right."

She's cold inside, all frozen anger that just wants to hide itself. I feel like protecting her.

Mortis shakes his head, his lips tightening. "I ask that you refrain from being the Dragon Booster for the same time period as your race suspension," he says. "Beau will certainly need time to heal."

"Of course. I know I was wrong. I know I—"

He holds up a hand. "I won't discuss with this you any further. Reflect on your errors, Kitt. Consider that you have been entrusted with more power than you appear able to use well."

She sits with me, resting on me like usual, though the mood is not like it has been before.

"I'm sorry, Beau," she tells me, not for the first time after the injury, and we remain in silence.

--

Various codenames rejected. _Daughter of Drakkus_ was obviously too long. _Crimson Sun_ sounded silly, _Pink Muhorta_ doubly so. Eventually he'd just _gone_.

He was still trying to come to terms with the ancient armour her father had just, you know, _happened_ to have around, and incidentally rather resembling an old Elite-class champion about whom he thought he'd heard a few vague rumours.

All right, so her father did like to wander the nights as a suitably armoured vigilante/villain. So he could have helped him out _before_ in fighting the Dragon Booster, although admittedly he had given Moordryd use of the technologies he'd felt were useful (and for the really crazy plans like trapping him and the Dragon Booster in the Shadow Track or freezing the city in black draconium, Moordryd would've regretted it if Drakkus had made an appearance, though he usually tried very hard to forget those things).

It wasn't a bad thing, right? And even better, her father said his sensors had detected a vast concentration of black draconium somewhere in Old City.

Power. That sounded good.

--

"We have already dealt with one marauder tonight," what was presumably the High Dragon Priest announced, over a mountain with a black door set in it. "Two more will be a simple matter."

His staff suddenly lit up, glowing gold, and a mag-board grew under him; his fellows did the same, and swooped down to attack Drakkus and his daughter.

"Stay close!" her father called to her, and she and Decepshun went in next to Abandonn's bulk. She watched as a mag-shield sprang up around them; she gloried in the energy rushing through her, power she hadn't even imagined was possible, and watched as the priests went down one by one.

--

The beeping continued. Kitt shuffled up from where she had rested on Beau, and felt around in the dark to try to shut it off; finally, her gauntlet seemed to catch on something helpful, and Mortis' communication screen came into view.

"He's not here," she said flatly.

"Who are you?" the Dragon Priest asked. "I cannot reach him on his personal communicator, and we are in desperate need—"

"I'm sorry. Mortis left, I don't know where he went. I can't—"

_I ask that you refrain from being the Dragon Booster. Beau will certainly need time to heal._

A loud noise broke from somewhere in the background. The priest looked horrified. "Mag-attack—" he called, and the image began to fizzle. Beau walked up behind her, staring at it. "Wastelands of Loane—help—any—please—"

Beau and Kitt exchanged a long glance.

"Beau, forgive me," she said; he shook his head, and magged her to his back. They couldn't _not_ go to a summons like that, after all.

--

It still hurts, in this form; but looking down at Drakkus and a strange pink-armoured figure beside him furiously battling Dragon Priests, I know there was no other choice we could have made. We charge down, facing them both defiantly. No time to waste for strategy, when the priests strewn about the ground being helped by their brothers could already be permanently injured or worse.

"The pitiful Dragon Booster," Drakkus drawls. "Feel free to finish him, daughter."

--

The Dragon Booster just _leaped_ at her, on a mag-board discarded by one of the fallen priests, apparently in a horrible temper. Moordryd dodged just before it sheared into him, rising in the air and preparing for battle; Meorganna had _won_ today, and she wasn't about to let go of that.

He glimpsed her father as the mag-stream flung her this way and that, fleeing from the Dragon Booster's attack; he and Abandonn both fired into what looked like a strange door, lifting it inch by inch.

She looked across at the dragon of legend. He looked smaller than he'd expected, but this strategy would _work_, he vowed.

"Father? If you can spare it, mag-blast the Dragon Booster in the next minute or so," he called through his wrist-comm, running along the rockface as the Dragon Booster's blasts hit home, and then leaped back across Decepshun. "Now, girl!"

The mag-stream flung him under the dragon's legs, the rappel gear he held tangling it up; she threw himself from under the dragon just as he reared, struggling to break free. Decepshun released the gear at the perfect moment, letting it snap around and tangle still more around the dragon as he swept around to get rid of the handicap.

Her father broke his pace to fire at the Dragon Booster, sending him down as Meorganna got up again. She felt almost drunk on power, and seared the ground with her mag-bolts as the Dragon Booster tried desperately to avoid her.

_Hitting him while he was down_, she thought—but the Dragon Booster had hit _him_ many times before, and her father was going to be so _pleased_.

"Decepshun, attack!" he called to her, and saw the dragon of legend teeter and overbalance as she rammed him. The Dragon Booster looked agonized as he glanced towards his dragon; but without a mag-stream there was no way he could compete with someone in the air. Two more shots, one a dead-on hit that had him hitting the rock wall with a sickening _clunk_; this was a _good_ night, Moordryd thought.

And then suddenly the Dragon Booster was up again, somehow managing to power himself through the air. He hit Moordryd dead-on, knocking the wind out of him, and drew back, balancing against the rockface.

Meorganna looked behind at her father. The gate looked about three-quarters of the way open, glowing purple-black. Whatever it was, it was _powerful_.

"Give the Dragon Booster and his dragon to me now," her father commanded. "You've done well."

She went back, beckoning the Dragon Booster to attack her again; he went to his dragon instead, though, and avoiding her mag-blasts took out the rappel gear entangling him.

Decepshun stepped back, growling. Moordryd raised his blocking staff as though about to commence a joust. She stood in front of her father, protecting him; the Dragon Booster took the bait, and rushed in to get her out of the way.

Decepshun sidestepped neatly as she magged her out of the way. The Dragon Booster leaped at Word with blocking staff raised; but he suddenly turned, and activated a mag-drain as Abandonn did the same.

Meorganna watched her father hold him pressed to the rock, his teeth gritted as though to prevent a silent scream, as the dragon did the howling for him.

"Thank you, Dragon Booster," Word said. "I needed your energy to access the treasures of this cave."

The door was nearly open. Moordryd could sense the energies from it, dark and ancient and something he felt very scared of, chilling his bones to cold milk. The black-and-gold dragon was on his knees now, the roar a faint whimper.

Whatever it—they—were, they were something _deadly_…

Her father would use them well. Only a crack of the gate remaining to be pushed open, the Dragon Booster's energy shuddering into the stone to raise it.

And then a rockfall, blocking the cave. He looked up in shock and saw a giant red-gold dragon standing tall on its hind legs, ridden by a priest.

"Stay away from those bonemarks, Drakkus!"

He watched the giant dragon leaping down, driving her father away from the cave. The Dragon Booster fell to the ground, collapsed over himself as though the falls he'd taken had damaged a rib or few.

She dodged out of the way as Abandonn was flung back, the new dragon rearing and roaring.

"Father…"

"Never mind; Mortis is an old friend of mine, daughter. Seize the Dragon Booster!"

"All right," Meorganna said, staring down at the defeated figure on the ground. "I'm going to find out who you really are if I have to blast off the armour bit by bit!"

_Not one of her better threats._ Decepshun pulled him up in a mag-lock, suspending him in the air; Moordryd prepared his first bolt.

"Does it hurt when I laugh?"

She fired, deliberately aiming for his ribs; the Dragon Booster's body shook, but the armour wasn't coming off. She fired a second time, flinging him back within the confines of the mag-lock; the dragon howled, sending out a mag-stream, and the lock shattered.

He was _already_ as good as defeated, Moordryd vowed, watching him struggle to stay upright on his dragon. She glanced up; her father and Mortis were in the air, engaged in a mag-battle more powerful than any she had ever seen. He could well imagine that a single one of their stray mag-bolts, ripping holes in the rocks, would fry them both.

"You're already exhausted from your expenditure of mag-energy, Drakkus," Mortis said. "The League of Eight are not for you!"

_League of Eight._ Sounded vaguely familiar, as though he'd heard the name once before. Some ancient death-and-destruction thing.

The Dragon Booster turned tail, running to his friend Mortis to protect him. Meorganna laughed, though truth-be-told she was starting to feel drained herself after a long day. She went after him, avoiding the explosions her father and his enemy were busying themselves with, up there in their battle.

Mortis broke, diving upwards, and aimed another bolt at the rocks above the tunnel; she heard her father curse as the gate was blocked still more.

He stood next to her father, ready to help defend him; the Dragon Booster looked up at Mortis, and reached a glowing hand to the sky.

"Daughter! Shield—" her father began, but he was too exhausted to do so instantly, and gold sprang up around them as Mortis' powers joined with the Dragon Booster's to create some sort of mag-_wash_, beating over them like greenish pancake batter mixed with smoke.

_Cain's pancakes_, she thought, dazed as she looked up.

"The ancient mag-escape combined with the mag-shield," her father said, and then started to laugh at Mortis, now holding the unconscious Dragon Booster in his arms. "Evidently you failed utterly."

"Father—" she began, looking around them; but he ignored him.

"I will turn the cliff into dust if I must, and retrieve those bonemarks as you retire to protect your precious hero," Drakkus continued. "You should have learned long ago that you cannot defeat me."

The Dragon Priest seemed to smile under his cowl, looking down at her for a brief instant.

"Listen to your daughter," he said, and then he moved his right hand through the air in a quick striking pattern; when the smoke cleared again, both he and the Dragon Booster had disappeared.

"What is it, Meorganna? _What_?" he asked angrily; and then he saw it.

"Father, I think…his mag-escape worked," Moordryd said redundantly, trying to recognize the landscape. "Only it took us with him…far away from the bonemarks…"

Her father launched into a fairly impressive torrent of profanity, some of which Moordryd filed away for future use and possible research into whether that was physically feasible. "Let us return to the Citadel, Meorganna," he said eventually. "You fought well in your battle against the Dragon Booster. I will train you further."

--

Yeah. She was _really_ drained now her father had finally managed to get them out of the Wastelands. He hoped Word hadn't noticed, and tried to stand straight-backed as she walked along the darkened corridors to his room.

He stood in front of the mirror, admiring the armour. He'd been served well today by the armlet, and he appreciated it.

"Thanks," he said, petting the thing for good measure. "Now, could we try Pretty Sparkly Pink Armour Magic Reversal, if you wouldn't mind? Please?"

He hadn't prepared for it to _hurt_ this much, he thought in the first twenty seconds of blinding pain. He grit his teeth as he reached for his VIDDcomm.

"Cain? Please…help me…"

--

She finally wakes. I too have been half-dreaming, drifting through consciousness as the pain in my back and the hurts of the battle rage through this form; it was a hard battle, and perhaps we should not have rushed in.

No. Almost _definitely_, for Mortis is not pleased at all with our night's work.

"Where—" she begins. "Oh. Good. Mortis, thank you for saving me. I'm sorry we went, they couldn't reach you and so…"

"You were impulsive and reckless, for the second failure in a row," Mortis says to her, not even a trace of redeeming softness in his voice.

"There were people in danger. I know I disobeyed, but I—"

"Your actions put them further in danger!" Mortis yells. "Drakkus used your energy to nearly release the League of Eight! Do you _know_ what the consequences of that could have been?"

"No, but I had to _try_—"

Mortis' screen comes down, showing a small portion of the war's devastation, some of it truly copied from many-years-ancient recordings.

"The League of Eight belonged to the warrior called Armeggaddon," he says. "Surely you have heard _that_ name before."

A boogieman, a dream, though it stirs more memories than that inside me. The name means only vague darkness to Kitt, and she shivers slightly.

"No. I must correct that. They were the dragons who ruled the Black Empire with him. The dragons responsible for starting the war by urging other dragons to fight."

She gasps.

"They would have destroyed both you and Beau before you could so much as tell them your identity!" Mortis continues.

"But—"

She's making things worse, I can tell, but I haven't the voice to tell her to be quiet.

"The original Dragon Booster defeated them, didn't he? Why can't I? And why didn't you tell me about them? Why—"

"Because you are still learning!" He continues, taming his rage. "Learn not to make excuses, Kitt. Accept that your reckless actions would have destroyed far more Dragon Priests than if you had waited just a little longer for me." He gives her a cold stare. "Your Red Draconium gets in your way, I believe. Perhaps you should have never tried to be the Dragon Booster in the first place."

"But I—" Disappointment rages through her.

"Just look at Beau," Mortis says, and she does, taking account of my bandages.

"I know. I _am_ sorry. If it was possible, I'd go back and undo it. But—"

_But we needed to go?_

"But Beau wanted equally to go, you were about to say?" Mortis says, his voice thundering through the caves; she actually cringes. "You blame _him_ for his injuries!"

"No! No, of course not. I—"

"You are Red, and you are his rider," Mortis continues, the deadly words coming easily to him. "Do you imagine that you have no influence at all on him?"

She lets out a small shock of breath as the full impact of his words hit her, as though she's drained entirely of air.

"Yes. We were reckless…" she whispers. "I—I'm sorry—"

_We_ were I remember, after the disastrous race, her wanting too desperately to win, rushing the new warrior and Drakkus when if we had waited, tried some different strategy perhaps, we would not have been used to open the door…

"It was impossible for the Dragon Priests to close that gate," Mortis continues brutally. "The bonemarks continue to try to release their dark energy, unable to be controlled or hidden elsewhere. They have been labouring all night to block it while you have rested, and their task will never be over. Drakkus may well come back for them, along with the new warrior who must have taken her power right under your nose, and then…" He makes a gesture. "They will rip this world apart a second time."

"Can I…help the priests seal it?" Kitt asks. "I know it won't fix things. But I—"

"You will not be using any of your powers, as I said before!" Mortis whirls on her. "Go home. Give me the gauntlet and amulet. Stay away from the training area. You have proved that I can't trust you otherwise."

She gives a small nod, and obeys him, as though she's just on the brink of tears. She will not cry, though; I know her that well.

"Where were you?" she asks in a half-whisper, her voice cracking slightly.

"In a brief meeting with another Order of Dragon Priests," he says, turning away. "Don't assume that everything concerns you."

"I didn't—" she begins, but he has gone; she sits down, placing her head in her hands. "Did I change you, Beau? Probably he's right; I'm Red and you're supposed to not have my flaws, you're the dragon of legend and I'm…well, I'm gonna have to tell everyone I date now that I'm a sex offender." She half-laughs, shaking her head as though she's gone mad. "Anyway. I _do_ understand if you want to Choose again. But you've been hurt, and until then I'm just going to look after you. Drakkus…_didn't_ win today. There's a chance to make this right, and I want to do that…"

She is probably…correct. She _is_ Red, and I wanted her courage and fire to help me battle; we have merged, and I had thought we changed each other. And yet Mortis must have a point.

But I'm tired and hurt; best not to think about this. I let her fix my bandages and soothe me, and fall to sleep.

--

He couldn't stop throwing up. His spleen felt like it was attempting to eat him from the inside. Perhaps worst of all, he couldn't even collapse to sleep through it all, enormous effort though it was to so much as open his eyes and vaguely try to aim for the sink.

Until Cain had helped him up, though still looking pale himself after the food poisoning he'd been through himself. Moordryd guessed the armlet must have held back everything wrong with him, releasing it all at once. Along with the blood and cramps marking a particularly uncomfortable aspect of feminine existence he really wished he'd never had to know about. Talk about _eww_.

_Fuck you, armlet, put me back__ I hate this…_ he thought as he tossed and turned, sleeping only when he wasn't vomiting or getting repeatedly punched with a spiked bat on the, um, whateveritwascalled. (Was he _expected_ to know the finer points of female anatomy? Honestly, this really, really—hurt—) In a few days, though, with Cain's help and the strongest painkillers he'd been able to force him to get (and paying a professional hypnotist to suppress the memory of her father's take on the magikal spirituality inherent to the feminine moon cycle), he began to regain energy, and mercifully what he'd decided to think of as merely It was starting to cease.

"So. Wanna tell me what happened, Moordryd?" Cain asked, sitting on the foot of his bed. "Looks like you're not _that_ sick any more."

"I'd like to see you try it," Moordryd retorted. "It was just a night out with my father, you know how it is—beating up random old guys, beating up the Dragon Booster, trying to take over the world—"

Cain shrugged. "There's word on the streets about that," he said. "They're calling you the Pink Booster."

"Oh _great_." Moordryd scowled. _And our winner for the Stupidest Codename In The History Of Codenames is…_ "But at least I beat him!"

"Yeah. Well done." Cain stood up. "Right. I'm going out for lunch with the others. You don't need me any more."

Moordryd frowned. Wasn't there something, before he'd been out? Something about Cain not answering the call, and the food poisoning and something about _friendship_…

"No, stay a bit, Cain," he said. "Is there something we should, like, talk about?"

"What sort of something?" Cain asked.

"Well, um…" Moordryd began. "There's something, isn't there? You're not really talking to me so much and it feels kind of strange…"

Cain cocked his head as he looked down at him. "You don't realise it, do you Moordryd?" He sighed. "Look, I _know_ you like girls. I'm fine with that, I've known you since back when you still thought they were some weird species with cooties. And I know it was probably—no, probably more on the probably-definite side—unethical for me to only, you know, fancy you as a girl—"

"That's all right, I think I'm hot too," Moordryd supplied.

Cain rolled his eyes. "Leaving your extreme narcissism out of this, I totally understand that you don't like guys."

"It's all about you, isn't it?" Moordryd muttered. "I'm fine with that, I've known you, I know, I know, I know—"

"I thought you were bi enough to be into it, and that was okay with me," Cain said. "But you didn't have to say that I turned you off men forever, Meorganna!"

"_What_?" Moordryd paused. "I didn't say that. I just said I was a lesbian. What's the big deal?"

"You _implied_ it!" Cain almost yelled. "Like I said. I don't care if you like girls, I _knew_ you liked girls, but you're not supposed to suddenly decide to shop at the manmeat side of Dracomart and _then_ dump it on me you're not interested!"

Moordryd folded his arms. "That figure of speech aside, newsflash, Cain, oldest friend? Just because I like girls doesn't mean I don't like you!"

"Uh, can we get a definition of _lesbian_, aisle three?"

She sniffed haughtily; unlike Cain, he'd passed Draconian class before leaving school, and therefore needed no definitions. "I'm allowed to experiment, Cain!" He patted the bed beside her. "C'mon, sit down, what's the point of having a hot lesbian body if you can't share with your friends? Just don't tell my father, I'm totally not gay or anything."

"…Except for the part where you are."

"_Wasn't_ gay. Scale it."

"Yeah, I suppose that sucks. So do I get makeup sex?"

"Oh, all right. And later let's check out the race photographs. I wanna know if they got Wann ripping my clothes off, that's _hot_…"

"Moordryd, it wasn't like that. Now quit fantasising about Kitt Wann or else I won't cancel lunch."

"All right. Mmm."

--

"All right, I admit it—Kitt Wann's pretty okay-looking and a good racer—now stop _tickling_ me, Moordryd—"

--

If it wasn't for that _Red_ (his temperament _makes_ him still count!) and the _dragon flu_ he brought home that had everyone bar Kitt and Mortis coughing and wheezing for several days, I would have recovered far more quickly; but I remain still weak, cared for in Penn Stables.

Kitt comes every day to look after me, and often falls asleep in her chair; she pores over near-encyclopaedias of track information and Academy-recommended racing techniques, alongside Parm preparing Artha and the Red for their races with an effort that has her drowsing buried in papers of race information.

And yet despite the double effort, Meorganna Syntence still leads the points tables, relying on mag-moves for Artha to counter them as best he can in each race he enters, and coming out ahead as though she's the favoured daughter of one of the old dragon gods.

It's not just planning the races that keeps Kitt tired, black circles under her eyes as she comes in; she's volunteered for the late shifts at the dragon shelter from which she adopted the Red, and spends much of her time there.

Improving the city, I suppose. She is a good person, and works for what she wants.

But the third thing that takes up her time is, I think, going too far. Perhaps especially for Red recklessness.

--

Her father was terribly pleased. A first place in the Heart of the Dragon survival race, a row of firsts in those little Skills and trial races that played into her average point standing, and no Kitt Wann to get in his way.

Of course, the Penn brat _was_ annoying, apparently with mag-moves from some source like the Dragon Booster, and although he was still hovering on fifth in the points standings he was the only one who could match the armlet's powers. Just as well it shifted into normal-looking clothing to give her the energy boosts she needed in races.

And the Dragon Eyes with the Pink Booster to assist them had escaped with enough dragons to satisfy her father, although most recently another vigilante's intervention had meant a theft abandoned. Too bad; it didn't _count_, though. The Dragon Booster was probably still away licking his wounds, and the priest hadn't been seen either. _Perfect._

"I got another first in the Skills race today, Father," she said, entering with Cain at his side. "Cain picked up some psi-gear in third."

"Well done. Now don't move—"

Word carefully put down the thing he was examining into a test tube, and sealed it firmly.

"What is that?" Cain asked curiously. "It looks like a flower petal."

Word turned abruptly. "Very _good_, Cain," he said to Moordryd's surprise, as his claws tapped the glass. "It is indeed a flower petal. One I no longer have occasion to use."

"Use?" Moordryd asked.

"It is called Dragon's Bane, Meorganna. An extremely rare flower. A single petal could turn an army of your enemies to obeying your commands."

"So you were planning to use it on Sharp Edge and the Dragon Booster?" Meorganna brightened. "Sounds like fun!"

"You don't need it." Word placed the test tube inside a drawer, alongside what was probably the rest of the flower. "Congratulations, daughter. Now why don't you two run along and steal some dragons?"

--

She usually returns in the mornings, a black-clad figure spitting blood and filching med-tape from Mortis' cupboard to bind her wounds.

When she sees my look of concern, she manages a smile. It doesn't quite stop her from looking like death warmed over. "Don't worry, Beau. Just a bit of a rough night, that's all."

_You have been disobeying Mortis and fighting._

"Yeah, I know," she says, sitting down across me. "And I know the reason why I'm doing it is to prove myself. But I was doing security at the dragon shelter when I saw that mugging, and I didn't do anything about that and she was _stabbed_, Beau, in the news it said she was really badly hurt. And the Pink Booster is helping the Dragon Eyes steal dragons."

I can't believe she's doing something so _stupid_!

"Mortis was right about strategy," she says wearily. She shows me her mask, a simple swathe of black cotton that covers her face and hair. "I come from the shadows and take them out, one by one until they give up. I'm calling myself Dual."

_Parmon told you?_ I quirk my head.

"Yup. After the original pink not-actually-a-Booster, apparently a good guy way back in the day. The Dual, like Parm told me from Mortis' briefing."

She smiles that quick devil-may-care smile, a gash opening and closing on her face.

"I know. I'm messed up and I'm doing it for power and I'm doing it for revenge and I'm doing it without my friends."

_And are you…doing the better thing?_ My tail flickers around her, brushing her legs.

"I have no idea if it's the right thing. I just know that Security isn't going to handle it, and I can't walk through my home without wanting to clean it up. That's all." She coughs, more blood dripping from her lips; she wipes it away with a black glove. "I'd better get started going through the trial race. It's on the Hazard track, oil slicks and turnstiles, Artha'll have to use balance gear and go light on the thrusters, in some ways the Slider's a lot tougher than Heart of the Dragon…"

I nudge her. _I'll go with you as soon as I'm well. Even if it _is_ wrong._

_Because I do not think anyone else will do it._

--

They went through the night. Moordryd-as-himself had secured the five dragons of tonight's work in the transport, held so tight with green shielding gear he considered even the Dragon Booster would have difficulty breaking through it. They had carried out the raids working together, Swayy and Cain posted on observation while he, Rancydd and Blarre had carried out the actual thefts; so far, their new vigilante hadn't tried to take on more than one of them at a time, and tonight had not yet appeared.

And according to the cosmic laws of the universe, that implied he would make his regular visit quite soon.

Moordryd looked up, and saw the dark figure leaping from the rooftop to the transport, moving almost too quickly to track.

Right on schedule, then.

A disrupter mine fell at Moordryd's feet, and two more scattered around the transport; he jumped back, firing trapping gear at the weirdo marauder. The guy was just a _guy_, without armour or even a dragon; they could easily fight him.

The mines hadn't gone off. The other Eyes' trapping gear went through the air in almost perfect coordination, and yet the vigilante somehow dodged.

Moordryd laughed. "You got your gear from Rust Johney, right? Maybe you shouldn't play with the big boys!"

He fired a mag-burst at him; the black-clad figure leaped off the transport to crouch opposite them, his blocking staff raised.

An oddly thick blocking staff. _Flash stick_, Moordryd realised too late, and then the mines went off as their timer must have come to a halt. He heard Rancydd cry out.

"Get out of the way!" he heard someone yell. Thruster gear fired up, and just as he blinked and flung himself and Decepshun aside the transport raced past him of its own accord, the vigilante on the back of it trailing flame into the darkness.

Meorganna clenched her fists. Nobody made a fool of _her_ and lived to tell of it. "Dragon Eyes, spread out and search for where he's headed! I'm calling in the Pink Booster—" Magna Draconis, he still hated the name—"to take care of this!"

She and Decepshun ran across the rooftops, catching up fast. The vigilante was still at the back of it, somehow powering Rancydd's thruster with human energy as he used his blocking staff to throw them around corners; whoever he was, he knew Down City, Moordryd had to admit, navigating from behind like that.

_The Penn brat, from the human energy powering the gear?_ It developed gradually as you practiced mag-skills, until you could use your own energy to even supplement your dragon's. But Penn wasn't that good, and too much of a Mid-City kid besides.

No, it was probably just some street kid with a few extra tricks who thought they could imitate the Dragon Booster. Which the _other_ Booster, of course, was only too willing to prove the stupidity of.

The transport hurtled down a sloping street, picking up speed that Meorganna found it almost hard to match. Maybe the idiot would even crash.

Somehow he managed to turn the corner, his staff sending up bright sparks as he pushed along the buildings; and then the thruster gear suddenly went dark as the rider leaped up in the turn's force, pulling off a perfect vault to the rooftops to face Meorganna.

She laughed at the figure striking a pose before her, as though he _expected_ Meorganna to come off the dragon and fight him hand-to-hand.

_Not a scalin' chance._

Except his next move was faster than she'd predicted, diving towards her and actually bringing her off her dragon. She kicked away, feeling her boot satisfactorily hit home, and summoned up mag-energy to _fry_ the fool.

He dodged. Leaping and twirling through the air like he could fly, fending each shot off with his blocking staff.

_Pretty…impressive, actually._

He cartwheeled off the roof; she rushed to look down, and saw him back on the transport again as it turned another corner, and next he was two rooftops beyond, waving to her.

"Mag me!" she called to Decepshun. _Nobody, _nobody_ gets away…_

He was pretty good with a blocking staff, but armour took hits so much better than cloth, and she wouldn't feel anything until it came off. She forced him back to the edge of the roof, inch by inch; it was _training_, she told herself. She wasn't going to just fry him when beating him little by little was the most interesting way—

—He jumped again, down onto the transport's roof, and she followed him. "They call me the Pink Booster. What do they call you, the Black Blunder?"

He didn't respond, at first.

"You know, if you want to _save_ the dragons, you're going to have to do better than crashing this thing somewhere—"

The wall loomed up towards them.

"Turn!" Moordryd cried, and they both leaned on the roof and thrust out their staffs to force themselves not to crash.

They returned to the fight. He grunted as she hit him in the ribs, and returned the attack with a strong flurry of blows doing _nothing_ against armour. Meorganna fought back, and they glared at each other over crossed staffs as the transport hurtled through the streets.

"They call me Dual," he said softly in a voice that could have been either male or female, and vaulted up to the nearest roof.

Moordryd stared after the slim figure, up there and running fleet-footedly away. She'd won this round, she figured; knowing this street, the turn was way far away—

The transport hit something. Soft, not enough to hurt it, but enough to make her fall to her knees; two more barriers, and it slid to a complete stop.

"What—"

She looked down.

_Fist-head._

He actually _smiled_ at her. "Pink Booster. Thanks for tipping me off. I'll make sure these dragons are restored to their owners."

"Ah…"

_I've been framed as a good guy!_

Three of his Crew stood around him, Kudgyl, Brawwnn and Clobber; she wasn't going to take on all four Dragon Fists on at once, not in their territory.

"Yeah. You, um, wanted those dragons back, right?"

Phistus brought his hammer down on the transport; it didn't break, Meorganna was pleased to notice, though it did shudder.

"We'll get it open eventually. Klynch, Thumpp? You think you could help us get this in?"

The other two Fists came up to look at it, Thumpp examining the gear arrangement.

"I'll open it right here. Typical amateur gear-lock; get me some Red soldering gear and I'll have this off in no time…"

Meorganna scowled beneath her helmet.

"Coming right up."

"Thanks, Klynch…"

They barely noticed as she walked away, fuming.

"Cain? Get the word out. The Fists took the dragons from me, if you hear anything different tell the others it _wasn't_ the Pink Booster's fault. I'm going home."

_And in tonight's news we have no recent sightings of the Dragon Booster, although the Pink Booster is credited with stopping several dragon thefts. These good-doers are quietly rumoured to have given rise to other vigilantes patrolling the shadows, but as yet any new masked figures remain mysteries of the night…_

She cursed as she flipped her VIDDcomm off, not caring to hear any more of the news.

--

"Kitt, I went down to your place last night and they said you'd moved out! Or that they'd _thrown_ you out…with you not being there much and the suspension and everything…"

"Old news, Professor. Why'd you go, anyway?"

"Well, we _are_ supposed to be your friends, you know. And you _did_ say you'd look at the Slider Track."

"Oh yeah—I glanced at it, just got distracted—but I've raced on it before, I'll VIDDmail you all about it and be there for Artha tomorrow—"

"Maybe we should be there for you. I appreciate you helping me race, but you've got to look after yourself as well."

"Yeah. You need to find a nice boyfriend, Kitt."

"Lance, that's enough."

"Look, it's okay—I'm just looking over the tracks and volunteering at the dragon shelter, doing a little training by myself every so often, it's all enough for me—"

"And you're tired all the time and I can see at least two bruises. And you're apparently not sleeping at either Penn Stables or the collective."

"Mortis told me to go home, so I thought I shouldn't stay for a while—it's okay—"

"Not when you fall asleep all the time in the _day_time while you're checking up on Beau."

"I'm just…tired. I'm sorry, I just…"

"Well, you _can_ stay with me if you don't feel like you belong with Mortis, you know. My mother has a very nice spare room."

"It's okay, I'm on night shifts at the shelter. I just need a bit more time to work things out—by myself—"

"Kitt, wait!"

"That was sudden. Perhaps we should let her go, though. She's certainly had a lot on her saddle lately."

"S'pose so."

--

She turned up late.

"Kitt! The race is about to start!"

"Don't worry. I VIDDmailed you the track, didn't I?"

"Yes—but—"

She looked through her binocs at the starting line below. "Hey, stableboy? Good luck."

"Thanks."

The large caterpillars at the side of the track made their final crawl, and the boards flashed. The starter horn sounded as Budge cheered.

"And they're off! Meorganna Syntence takes an early lead, with Artha Penn still lurking in fifth place at this stage in the race, right behind Marianis—"

"Take this part with your sledding gear, Artha! Blue balance gear, thrusters should keep you making the turns—" Kitt began.

"—and optimise your path for speed while the irregularity enables you to acquire a promising position!" Parm finished.

"I think he means just go fast!"

"Uh, thanks for the advice!"

They watched Artha sit low in the saddle as Wyldfyr's sledding gear activated; he seemed a little nervous as he zipped through the track, but the other riders slowed to avoid him as he quickly changed directions.

Bar Wulph, imitating his strategy.

"Turnstile hazard coming up!" Parm called. "Jump up and—"

"Purple-gear him!" Kitt finished. "Er—I mean fight him…"

"The mag-rack we prepared will be to your left once you exit the obstacle section," Parm said. "Take green ramming gear!"

"I have an idea!" Artha responded, and magged out the ramming gear to knock out Wulph's dragon.

Kitt bit her lip. "Then you're…gonna have to leap past the barrier section. If you're fast enough, it shouldn't matter. Got Aero and thruster handy?"

"Absolutely."

Wyldfyr slid past Marianis and Poseidos, dodging between the turnstiles.

"Look out—" Parm called as one seemed to come too close to Artha, but mag-energy appeared around his hand as he fired.

"Artha, you stopped the machine with giga-dracs of energy!" Parm yelled in surprise. "Where are you _getting_ it from—"

"Training with Mortis, remember? Sharpfyr's going great. Now—"

He did the jump with thrusters firing, activating Aero gear only at the last minute to get a fast jump above a more showy one, and landed just behind Meorganna at the beginning of one of the long tubes that distinguished the Slider Track.

They both reactivated sledding gear, their dragons skipping the cutaway sections as they flew along the smooth path. The two lead racers flew from their dragons' backs, and went at each other with mag-fire.

Kitt nodded, impressed. Wyldfyr and Artha were doing well, battling Meorganna and her dragon very effectively—

Pyrrah, catching up to them fast, muscle balance gear combined with thruster and sledding. She'd probably be able to overtake them as they fought, easily.

"Behind you—" Kitt called to Artha, and then to her shock he reached across and fired down a mag-bolt at Phorrj's sledding gear. It exploded; the dragon fell back, and Pyrrah was trapped beneath him.

"Artha! What—"

He flung himself beyond Meorganna, and swung himself over the ledge to hit a target with his feet. Meorganna's dragon careered around as she narrowly missed the obstacle, and Meorganna herself fell back to the saddle as the mag-energy refused to hold her up any longer.

"Artha Penn overtakes the Stone City champion!" Budge called. "They're really playing with fire out here on the race tracks, the bets have already started to give great odds for these two as this year's main competitors! Oh—"

Artha's turn to skid as Meorganna rappelled a target in front of him. He faltered just before a jump, desperately activating thrusters to stay in the air while she leaped past him, waving cheerily. Kitt forced herself to play close attention to his position on the track, to tell him the exact right place to jump.

"And Meorganna once again takes the lead! She's activated green ramming gear, level seven as she enters the barrier, very nice, and she's not holding back as she shoots her way through it. Ooh, nice ricochet there, taking out four barriers at once as her point score climbs higher and higher—"

"Artha, now!" Kitt called to him, and he took the jump above the barriers. She could see the extra mag-energy pushed to his gear, and watched him fly past the track. He even reached down to blast the barriers as he went, netting himself a few extra points for it.

"Artha Penn's having it both ways, jumping ahead as he fires at the barriers; Meorganna's seen, she's—oh, that's one powerful mag—and they're both through, coming into the final slide—"

"Wyldfyr's faster, stableboy. Give it all the juice you've got!" Kitt called.

The dragons battled as much as the humans, Meorganna's dragon trying to shove Wyldfyr into the walls as the humans battled from saddleback.

"Artha, if you just get out of Meorganna's way—twist, use the air currents—you can get ahead and win—"

"I _can't_!"

She clenched her fists. There were openings, Artha and Wyldfyr _could_ win it—

"Wyldfyr, stop fighting and get through!" she called—he was being pretty aggressive as he snapped at the Psi-blend, but she supposed Meorganna's dragon was as annoying as its rider.

Meorganna seemed to explode in light, and ran on to first place while Artha and Wyldfyr stumbled behind her in the wake of the mag-shield's passing.

Budge's gong sounded. "Meorganna Syntence, in first place again—is it getting to be a habit or what? And second we have Artha Penn, rising to fourth place in the overall point standings, perhaps Down City's hope, and in third Pyrrah of the Dragon Flares, after a stunning recovery!"

Kitt and Parm turned to each other and shrugged, smiling. Second _was_ good, and Artha and Wyldfyr had done well.

"Not bad, stableboy," she said as they walked back to the Sharp Edge tent. "Brilliant racing, Wyldfyr!"

They both snorted; Wyldfyr flicked the dragon treat from her pocket with his tail and neatly grabbed it from the air. "I totally feel appreciated," Artha said. "So what was that thing you were telling me to do? I could've won."

"You just needed to…twist a bit, it's hard to explain in words." Why was she feeling so _slow_ today? She was tired, she should've been better at helping him… "You slip back to throw them off guard, then speed forward, a bit like the tip I showed you back in the Dashyrr Championship."

He frowned. 'You could've said so."

"Sorry. Anyway, I _am_ glad you did well, but that mag you did on Pyrrah—"

"What about it?"

"Well, it wasn't very _nice_," Parm said. "Pyrrah has been honourable to us, when not under Word's influence."

"And nobody else knows the mag-moves other than Meorganna," Kitt said. "It's a bit like…"

"Like cheating?" Lance asked.

"It's _not_ like cheating!" Artha turned on them. "And if it _is_, then riding the Dragon of Legend counts!"

Kitt held up her hands. "You have a point there. But I've known Pyrrah for a while, and that mag was pretty brutal. I understand why you did it, and Pyrrah did make third—" _would she do something far more terrible if she got Red-angry, with the powers of legend? Actually she already _had"—but I don't think you should do something like that again."

"We need to get into the Academy and release the dragon," Artha said, his lip curling. "Did you miss Mortis saying that?"

_Like you missed everything else Mortis has been saying since you got banned from being the Dragon Booster_, he didn't say, and she was thankful for that.

"No," she said. "But if we get into the Academy just by beating everyone up with mag-moves, then maybe it's no use at all."

"If_ you_ get into the Academy by _me_ beating people up, you mean," he said, and sighed. "Look. Kitt. I didn't start out as the legendary hero who's been racing since forever, and now I'm having to go on in your place."

She nodded. He was right about that, but still…

"I won't use mag-moves unless Meorganna starts it," he said. "Deal?"

"Oh yeah. You got to beat her next time, stableboy."

Lance put an arm around both their waists. "Let's go get something to eat now you've decided it. I'm hungry."

"That is a very good idea, Lance. Who's for it?"

"Yes—"

A nod and hungry growl from Wyldfyr.

"Totally—"

Her VIDDcomm beeped.

"Hello?"

"Kitt, it's Becca here. I'm just finishing off the mid-afternoon feeding on my own. Vete had to leave early and Neale can't make it today, and I have to pick up the children—I don't mind that you didn't turn up earlier, but can you please stay for Neale's shift instead? You're the only one we have to administer little Gyrro's medication on the clock…"

"Sorry, Becca, Artha had a race." She should've _told_ them; she'd thought she was too tired to pencil in a note two shifts ago and put it off, and had then completely forgotten about it. "I'll be in soon." She looked up apologetically. "Sorry, guys…"

"No problem," Artha said. "Come on, guys. See you 'round, Kitt."

--

"First place!" Parm beams. "And at least you only used mag-moves on yourself!"

"They're something I learned." Artha hits his friend playfully on the shoulder.

It seems Kitt wanes as Artha waxes, though I manage a laugh at myself for the silliness of the phrase.

"You did very well on the Horn Trail," Mortis tells him.

"Yeah. I even got almost the exact same score as Meorganna and Cain, can you believe it? It's a way harder track than the partnered one because they want riders who can work together with other people, but I guess if you do as well as me—" He grins proudly, but then he slumps a little. "She's still ahead in the standings, though."

"Technically, though, you did work together," Parm points out, reaching for a slice of scaleroot pizza; I trip him with my tail, and pretend to have been uninvolved in the accident as I helpfully save the slice from falling to the ground. There are dragons starving in the White Cliffs, after all. I hope it doesn't upset my stomach, though, I think as I chew; I _need_ to return to action.

"Yeah, you and Lance and Kitt," Artha says. "Thanks, Parm."

"She's gone down to the dragon shelter," Lance explains to Mortis. "When's she coming _back_?"

Mortis bends down, speaking gently to him. "Kitt has…made mistakes," he says. "She may return when she has worked past them."

_She_ will _return_, I tell myself.

--

Black-clad Dual comes in for the day as every day, unrolling the mask and doing the most elementary treatment of injuries she's received. I see her cake her face with solid foundation to hide bruises, and watch her grant herself small moments of sleep in the chair beside me.

And I sigh.

--

**A/N:** Feedback is love.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

**A/N:** After being...away for a while, I'm increasingly coming to realize that this fic is pretty much _crack_. (Other than the bits where it's ripped-off canon.) XD

She had a _plan_.

The perfect place to find dragons? A dragon shelter, of course.

An equally perfect place to annoy Wann? The shelter at which Wann volunteered.

And a place in which to continue the legend of the Pink Booster? As equally promising.

Too bad Wann apparently wasn't on duty, she thought as she brought down the door with a fire grenade, Decepshun stepping neatly over the wreckage.

"Get out if you wish to live!" she yelled to the volunteer who came rushing out. Not Wann, unfortunately. "I am the Pink Booster, and I've come to free the dragons!"

True, if you defined "free" as "arrange to rush into Cain's waiting transport to be made into wraiths".

She grabbed the volunteer. "Are you the only one here?" she demanded of him. She didn't want to accidentally kill anyone, and she needed to seal this exit. "Tell me the truth or I'll send you to Abandonn's dark harvests early!"

"No, I'm the only one here, Kitt was late again, I just—please don't hurt me—"

_Too bad about Wann's tardiness._

Meorganna flung him out the door, and sealed it behind her. _Good_.

She marched on to the stables, feeling top of the world once again. She threw Blarre's timed disrupter mines around them, planning to create a dragon stampede; she'd checked the entrances beforehand, and found only two. The back way would be _perfect_ for them to rush out into the not-so-loving arms of his Crew's trapping gear. Knock down the compartments, then set off the mines at the front; simple logic they'd run right into captivity.

The lights flickered, and then went off. Perhaps she'd damaged the system in her entrance. She activated a hand-held mag-light, and kept on with her task. _One minute 'till explosion, A section covered, B section covered, just C then exit and wait…_

"I have been watching you, boy."

The voice had been from somewhere in the shadows. If it had been there at all. Magna Draconis, was she hallucinating or what? She glanced around, shining the light, but could see no-one.

"Who're you calling boy?" he called. "Did you miss the C-cups?" She scattered the mines like she needed to; she couldn't waste time.

Black energy gathered around the mines, lying inert in the corner. _Mag-freeze._ She glanced around again, intensifying her light, and still couldn't see a thing. _Shadow gear?_ If only Vizz had finished building the heat sensors…

"Identify yourself!" she shouted.

"You have gained power since the last time I saw you. Prove yourself not completely weak in this battle, Moordryd Paynn."

_He—it, whatever!—knew who he was! Not Dual's voice, couldn't be the Dragon Booster, couldn't be her father and her father wouldn't call her boy anyway…_

"This Dual has taken the name that should rightfully be yours. Destroy him," the voice continued.

"Wait, _what_? The Pink Booster should be Dual?"

"Yes," the voice sneered. "Dual was never a Booster. Xe was weak. You may be stronger, with my help."

"I could've called myself Dual the _whole time_? I didn't have to be stuck with some dumb codename like the Pink Booster? The _bastard_!"

A laugh. "Yes, yes. Kill him and prove yourself."

Well, after an insult like that-- Justifiable homicide, clearly. Rid the world of the name-stealing crime-foiling menace for good.

"Who are you?" she yelled again.

"Your destiny—if you are worthy."

The mag-freeze suddenly disappeared. It felt like warmth had replaced a shadow. She kept looking, staring around for whatever it had been, and then remembered; _mines, get out, _now.

She and Decepshun raced for the exit, haphazardly throwing out the remaining mines in their wake. Hopefully the dragons would bash their own way out if their stable areas didn't get a direct hit.

Exit up ahead; she threw a mag-bolt at it to blast it open. The plasteel buckled, but didn't break. She swore, and offered a second, which had more effect, making it ripple and bend misshapenly; she activated ramming gear finally, and tore through it as the mines went off behind her.

_Through!_

The open transport suddenly started moving towards her, and knocked Decepshun as she leaped. They fell aside; she looked up to see the thief-calling-himself-Dual, black-clad figure atop the opposite rooftop.

"Cain?" she called.

Muffled sounds came from a closed transport wheeled to their left. So Dual had made it here in good time.

Odd, especially since he was on foot. Dragon thefts usually took some time in the execution, but he hadn't always managed to get there and stop them. In the area, probably, Meorganna decided. _Or the mag-freeze had lasted a lot longer than she'd thought…_

She still shivered. But she'd prepared for this.

The concealed wraith came up behind Dual as Meorganna manipulated the controls, and seized him by the scruff of the neck, shaking him like a rag-doll.

"I know where you stole your name now!" she yelled, and magged up to meet him.

_Prove yourself worthy._

She could _take_ him, easy.

Dual hadn't let go of his mag-staff yet. He tried to fight; Meorganna blocked him. She heard the sound of rushing steps, like a coming flood.

_The dragons. Oh yeah._

A mag-push shoved the main transport back in front of the exit, catching the dragons as they stampeded out. It was just a moment of distraction, but Dual's kick caught her squarely in the ribs; she ducked back, and Dual ripped the fabric of his outfit from the wraith's mouth. She saw a flash of pale skin on slender shoulders, crossed by bright blood. (Very skinny boy. Poor kid.) The wraith shimmered into visibility as Meorganna activated its defences, ramming gear with the iron ball held ready; _it was close, no way he could avoid it—_

He didn't avoid it. Dual leaped on top of Meorganna before she could stop the activation, both plunging from the rooftop, and the projectile glanced off both of them as they plummeted to the ground, Moordryd on the bottom as the armour barely managed to take the hit.

Little black-and-gold-and-pink dragons danced inside his head as he finally raised it. The boy was peeling himself off her, flinging himself back; he was going to the transport to help the dragons, Meorganna realised. She pressed the button to seal it; they would have done most of their stampeding by now, and the vast transport held at least ten. Ten would be enough. Too bad they hadn't been able to herd more.

_Right. Reinforcement time!_

The invisible wraiths crowded Dual as he lashed out with his blocking staff, rather clumsily. Looked like the fall had really taken it out of him.

_Free Cain and the others? But the mysterious voice had told her to prove himself—had promised _power_—_

She could hear Cain's muffled voice. She went to get them out of the transport.

"Dragon Eyes, attack!"

Dual jumped—on what had to be a wraith's tail, Meorganna realised—and let it fling him away, his mag-staff hitting the top of the transport to get him flying rather awkwardly down on the other side. Decepshun lifted Meorganna without prompting, sending her down; there were some dragons still fleeing the shelter, surrounding them.

_Angry_ dragons, too. Meorganna watched smugly as Dual fended them off, and then had to start fighting herself as an extremely irritable-looking Nautilus-class snapped at her.

And the shadow, the deep dark shadow beyond, and then the dragons were rushing away and she heard the cries of her friends as they watched the stampede surge towards them, and she waited for the voice again.

Dual's blocking staff glowed a bright red-gold, and she saw the tension in his body as he put the last of his resources into this battle. He hit the transport lock, breaking the system as Meorganna tried to break him, slamming viciously to his shoulder where the ramming gear had hit him, and they both jumped down as the dragons flowed around them.

_Crap crap oh crap oh crap…_

Dual got in a lucky hit, his staff glowing brightly, and then darted back into the dark building.

Where the…shadows were…

"You have failed," the dark voice said, and she ran back to her friends.

--

The darkness felt cloying, palpable sticky hands reaching out for her as she ran, trying to ignore the pain in her shoulder and the utter exhaustion trying to claim her. _The Pink Booster shorted the lights_, she told herself, _that was all, and the dragons had escaped but they would probably find their way back. It would be _fine.

Someone. Some_thing._

"Who are you, little insect?"

She ran on. Somehow she reached the storeroom, and closed the door and pulled off the mask and grabbed the spare pair of overalls Becca kept there and finally activated her VIDDcomm.

"Hello? Dragon City Security, please, help me, our shelter's been attacked, please come!"

That was that, she thought as the shadows seemed to surround her. She-was-hurt-in-the-explosion, she-needed-your-help-brave-officers, no-I-haven't-seen-anyone-masked, please-don't-release-my-name, I-I-I—

She couldn't stand it any more. The fuse box was just outside the storeroom. She flung herself to it, and somehow managed to get the lights on.

Weird. It didn't seem like the system had been damaged much, after all. And…

…and the entrance was sealed. No explanation for how Kitt Wann had made it in. She fiddled with the controls some more, and after throwing a rock at it managed to get it slightly open just before DCS arrived.

--

"Too bad we lost the dragons," Cain said as they slunk away towards home, the sirens blaring in the distance as Faiar's men arrived far too late.

Yeah, too bad. Fuck it.

She supposed she should think about Dual. The voice had seemed to know something about him, and especially the original one to call themselves Dual (some kind of shemale, apparently). Which made them…

….some other vigilante-haunt-thing, she supposed. Like the Dragon Booster (was Dual a friend of his, for taking the name so deliberately?) or the random Dragon Priests or even her father, who knew more than her even if he hadn't been able to tell her the right codename from the start. Something like that. Just one of those things that happened when you were an armoured vigilante bearing an ancient artefact from the first dragon-human war.

_But the shadow had promised power, and she had failed him…_

"Let's go home, Cain," she said.

--

"Dragon City Security, please, help me, our shelter's been attacked, please come!"

Moordryd cackled. That tape he'd recorded from _Dragon City Security Patrol_ wasn't going to get old, _ever_.

"Dragon City Security, please, save me! I'm such an innocent damsel in distress!" he mocked for the rest of the Crew's benefit, trying to make the falsetto sound fake. "Ooh, yeah, I call myself greatest on the streets, but I could _never_ deal with an eensy-weensy little explosion, not like great heroes like the Pink Booster and her friend Moordryd Paynn!"

"We get the message, Moordryd," Swayy said, rolling her eyes. "We don't get _dragons_."

"I guess," Moordryd muttered. They hadn't been stealing nearly enough for her father to be happy. "But it's _Wann_, it's _always_ funny…"

Blarre threw a rotting cushion at him. "Fifty-sixth time, it's not."

Moordryd sniffed imperiously. "Fine," he said, and went back to dwelling on Meorganna's latest race. She'd _won_, and her father had approved of that at least, and for once the Penn brat hadn't pulled a second, thrown down a pit almost immediately after the race's start following a good blast to his Aero gear, and with Vizz' heat sensors for shadow gear perfected she could really put some plans into place.

"So, Moordryd, what's that cousin of yours like?" Rancydd asks. "Swayy reckons she was Cain's girl, you know, just rode in from Stone City and already she's flinging her knickers on top of our fridge…"

"I said to shut up about that," Cain snapped.

Moordryd shrugged. "She's more picky than you'd think. 'S why she's not that keen on hanging out with you guys." He took a look around, seeing if his shot had hit home. "And it was her bra, not her knickers."

Swayy took in a sharp breath. "How'd _you_…"

"Cain told me," Moordryd said serenely.

"You know, I didn't see that much of her," Swayy said, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, considering she's apparently your cousin, who looks a _whole_ lot like you, and you're best friends…"

Moordryd and Cain both shook their heads hastily.

"Don't go there."

--

"It's too bad the Dome is the final race in your suspension period," Parm observes, glancing across at Kitt. "It's worth almost fifteen percent of the Academy total scores this year! You'll have to finish in the top two, Artha. You don't have the racing record to back you up otherwise."

"Then I gotta win this thing!" Artha says. "I'm only behind Meorganna and Marianis in the point scores for this one, and if I make first I might get even with Meorganna."

"Only if Marianis does pretty badly," Kitt points out. "But if you just focus, stableboy…"

"I am focusing," Artha tells her, manipulating his VIDDgame controls.

Kitt rolls her eyes, but sits beside him anyway. "Not like that! Anyway, _I_ think you can do it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." His brows narrow, and he sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as the game beeps. "Haha! I—" He stops in disbelief.

"I win! I win!" Lance cheers for himself.

"And I suppose a giant dragon foot squashing the two leading racers is in the game, is it now?" Parm asks indignantly.

"Well, um…yes?"

I see Wyldfyr snickering as they quarrel; he looks amusedly down as Artha reaches for our littermate to plant a noogie on his head, swishing his tail somewhat impatiently as he waits for his and Artha's scheduled warm-up session.

"Fix it, Lance," Parm eventually advises, giving the game to him as he and Artha file out with Wyldfyr for Mortis' session, and Lance trots off into a corner as Kitt slumps back, closing her eyes.

"Kitt, wake up!" I hear him call a while later, rushing over to us. "Look at what's in the game! It's Meorganna, I saw her getting illegal black market gear from this guy named Malto, he's…"

"Mmphgug?" she asks sleepily, then forces herself to alertness. "What? No, that can't be. Parm said he'd check her out, and he hasn't mentioned finding anything yet."

Lance shakes his head. "No, _look_, they're on the screen right here, he's giving her Elite Class mag-channelling gear…"

"I just see that giant dragon foot," Kitt says, and she's right. We had both drifted off somewhere; is it possible Lance did the same?

Lance scowls. "But it was _there_!"

"You sure?" she asks. She looks down at the dragon foot again, and I don't blame her for her scepticism. "Maybe you should just fix the game," she says. "I've got to finish the course notes for Artha, anyway."

"I _am_ sure!" Lance yells, sulking.

--

Mortis does allow me to accompany the others to the race; it is _very_ good to be outside again, walking through the streets, although Kitt has to ride with Parm on Cyrano. This is slightly unfair; I feel I could carry her, and it's hardly as though she's built like Marshall Budge, although as we continue to the racing arena I must admit that I am still slightly weak from the long time of rest. Artha enters the dome, the other racers gathered in their places and the Academy officials above, while Parm performs his final calculations.

It's certainly going to be an…interesting…race.

"Stay out of the way of the others, stableboy," Kitt advises. "Let Phistus gets too close and he'll smash you, Marianis has great night vision, and you know Khatah."

"And Meorganna's _cheating_," Lance mutters.

"Don't get paranoid, Lance," Artha says with a sigh. "Right. Got it."

"Follow Kitt's strategy!" Parm warns. "I have ascertained that caution is most definitely the best policy…"

"Yeah, yeah," he says, and I see Wyldfyr's head tilt amusedly from this distance.

The dome begins to close.

--

Moordryd took the final opportunity to glance up at the crowd in the light. "Armlet, pretty please could I get infrared vision on the helmet?" he muttered as he stroked her arm. Even if it didn't work, the illegal gear was still secured to Decepshun's 'caps; she _needed_ to win the race to make up for the dragon theft failures, and she wasn't going to let anything stand in her way. "Ultra-Pink Darkness Defeating Glamour?"

He saw the screen in front of her eyes shift, the colours seeming to reverse from light to dark and vice versa. Looking up at Marshal Budge, he began to notice a side effect—and averted her eyes in horror.

_X-ray vision!_

He kept looking at the audience, noticing an attractive woman in a suit that showed up as dark blue over deep red skin, and kept looking as her clothes seemed to disappear entirely, softly-drawn contours of bare skin appearing.

_Oh, the things I could do with this…_

She glanced up at Wann. There was an extra layer or two to her top, and as she stared she realised what it had to be.

"Cain, the infrared works! Didja know Wann stuffs her bra, not that it does anything for her? I mean, _I_ totally wouldn't bother, especially since she still looks way flat, no wonder she was jealous…"

"I doubt she was jealous," Cain replied. "And, uh, Moordryd? The _race_?"

"…Oh yeah." Meorganna looked up at the descending roof, now blocking Wann from view. "So, Wann, I guess the puberty dragon just wasn't interested? Want a bit of silicon gear to go under the top?" (All right, she was still okay-looking and in proportion and stuff, and she kind of wished she had a bit longer to play around staring, but—ha ha! Wann _stuffs her bra_!)

"Moordryd, now's not the time. Lend your helmet to me after the race?"

The dome closed.

--

We see Artha speeding through the darkness, Meorganna catching up behind him. Her mag-burst glows brightly, and he responds in kind; he doesn't seem inclined to show any mercy, not today and not to her. I see him aim a powerful series of shots at her while Wyldfyr dodges the obstacles; and then Meorganna veers off suddenly, her dragon knocking down Hyve while she makes sure the rider doesn't recover.

"Wulph—is—out!" Marshall Budge booms.

They're racing behind Marianis and Pyrrah now, whose staffs strike visible sparks between them. Artha's blast forces Meorganna into them both, and Pyrrah falls to the ground, though the other two are saved by their dragons. I see Marianis racing on into the darkness, away from the others.

_Looks like one racer's actually obeying the strategy._

Lance and Parm have wandered off, probably looking for better reception; Kitt's watching carefully, but the screen shows even less than what the racers can see, and it's up to Artha to win this.

Phistus' hammer shows up on screen, blocked by Artha's staff. They race each other past the turnstiles, and then Phistus is down as the turnstile pounds on him. I blink. There was some glint at the corner of the screen, mag-energy, Meorganna's maybe…?

"Go stableboy!" Kitt pumps her fist into the air.

Parm returns to us. "Lance is telling his stories again," he says, irritated. "How is the race? How is Artha?"

"He's doing good," Kitt says, and then gasps. Meorganna's whip lances towards him, starting to steal his energy; he blasts it quickly, though, and she drops it as it burns her hand. "Woah! Better turn down the mag-moves, stableboy."

Lance comes up beside Kitt. "She's cheating, I _saw_ it! _Please_ can you come wait by the air vent with me?"

"All right," Kitt says grudgingly. "But only for a little bit, okay? If this Malto isn't there I'm going back."

The race continues; the screen shows Marianis in her corner of the track, dodging the obstacles nimbly. Khatah's next to feature, doing his signature mag-jumps over and with the turnstiles as the audience admire his sheer skill, and then Meorganna, not nearly so graceful as he but almost as effective.

And ramming into Khatah, Shock-Ra reeling but not quite down, and then blue star gear from them both, making her back off. At least for a while.

Kitt returns. "Nothing in the air vent," she says. "Wonder what got into him?"

Oh, it's Artha and Khatah now, on the screen. We both watch nervously; if he defeats Khatah and Marianis both, he'll finish at least in second. They fight with blocking staffs, and then Artha's starts to glow with mag-energy; he suddenly seems to explode with it, and Khatah is thrown to the ground.

"Artha! What about—" Kitt begins.

"He's already been to the Academy!" my littermate calls back. "I have to do this, all right?"

Kitt bites her lip. "Then beat Marianis fairly, stableboy!"

Meorganna's already with the other competitor, though, and I see them both leap on the turnstiles as they fight, dark shadows travelling through the air.

"Sounds like Meorganna'll do it for me," Artha answers, satisfied. "Where do I go to wait for the gate to open?"

"They change it every year--I can't tell you," Kitt says. "But if you keep on the track you should be fine."

"Good."

She stands up. "I'm gonna see where Lance has got to now," she says. "You right, Parm?"

"Yes yes, we'll be fine. Go see what he's up to," Parm says absently, and continues with his calculations.

"Marianis—is—down!"

Meorganna's dragon, burdened with ramming gear, hit the turnstile on which her mistress' opponent stood; poor Marianis was sent tumbling to the ground, and Meorganna jumps over her as they continue, in the vague direction of the air vent while the camera focuses on Artha's race once again. He and Wyldfyr do well, nimbly and quickly taking on the track; and then a flood of blue star gear hurtles out of the darkness, nearly toppling them as they dodge. It doesn't let up, glowing with mag-energy on top of its power.

And then Lance's footsteps running in, and words I did not want to hear:

"Parm! Kitt's been captured by Malto!"

"Lance! Enough," Parm says, and that manages to halt my rush, at least for a moment. "I'm sure she's fine. I can get her on her comlink, right here, I'm sure soon—"

I run.

"Beau, wait—"

--

We have scoured the city for several hours, Parm and myself and Lance and Artha and the ex-Red when they finish their race. I could smell no trace of either Kitt or the presence claimed to be Malto (black-light green, I think, and a faint acrid gear-stench all under the strong sense-shields he had thrown up to protect against tracker-dragons) anywhere beyond the airduct, which means that his hideaway could be _anywhere_.

If he has not harmed her. I race through the city, and try my best to hope as it grows dark and the chances of finding Kitt seem infinitely weaker.

--

Word didn't turn around as they entered, studying figures on the screen labelled 'Wraith Feedback'. "First place, Meorganna. My congratulations. Now give the Elite Class gear to me."

She paled. "How did you—"

"I was the one who taught you," he said frostily. "But I _am_ quite impressed, daughter," he added, and she sighed in relief. "Initiative and cunning. A chip off the old draconium block. But give it to me; it's far too powerful for a person your age."

"It could help against the Dragon Booster, Father," Meorganna said hopefully.

Word shook his head dismissively. "That coward hasn't shown his face since we defeated him—and your mag-moves should be sufficient. _Particularly_ against that lone human you and Cain have been whining about."

Meorganna took a step back at the sudden scowl that had crept to her father's face. "Yeah. I'll capture Dual for you, no problem," he boasted. "Like you said, he's just some lone kid with a few tricks. We're getting to it."

"See that you do," Word commanded, the tone uncomfortably close to the one he had frequently used in the time before the armlet (TBA, Moordryd thought of it).

"Yes, Father." Moordryd and Cain turned together to leave, until her father spoke again.

"And I'm taking you to the dressmakers' tomorrow at tenth claw, Meorganna."

"_What_?"

He continued as though she had not spoken.

"You have a date with Saul Reptilis, of ReptiliCorp, later that day."

"But—why—"

"_Really_, Meorganna. As my niece, you are expected to have social responsibilities, and he will someday inherit his father's corporation."

"But—but isn't compulsory heterosexuality a tool of the patriarchy?" Meorganna improvised. He really didn't want to spend the day with some Sun City brat.

"That's why I had no objection to your inclinations before, of course," Word said, waving her protests ("Father, I wasn't...") aside like thin cobwebs. "The thought of someday combining Paynn Industries' might with ReptiliCorp's lands and manpower—or possibly an alliance with Samson Levia's boy, or perhaps Dragon Master Ria's or Ister's sons—"

"Marriage is a bourgeoisie institution of oppression…" Meorganna hazarded.

Word smiled. "Not," he said, "for you." His tone was final, and Moordryd and Cain took the opportunity to exit.

"And, Cain?" Word said. "Keep your hands off my daughter. Do I make myself clear?"

Cain paused; Moordryd waited. "Yesmrpaynnsir," he said eventually, and they went at last.

"So. Are you going to tell him, or should I be the one to get skinned and broiled alive?" Cain hissed, when they were safely out of hearing distance.

"That I like girls?" Meorganna shrugged. "Later, I guess. I'll meet a nice girl someday, and I'll let you watch and if we get together you can be best man."

Cain rolled his eyes. "All right. As long as I can watch."

--

I see my littermate first, searching some distance away, leaping with Wyldfyr across the rooftops and the growing dark. He doesn't seem to notice me, like me busy searching for our friend in half-light.

And then I see her, lying still near the edge of a building some distance from me. Artha's seen her too; he'll easily beat me to it, but I hurry anyway. _If only she is all right…_

He leaps from the dragon and goes to the edge next to her, quickly reaching down and pulling her up. She moves, reacting to the sudden awakening. She's fine; I'm joyful. But they're too near the edge, both of them, and she's falling back from him, and then he stumbles and reaches out into empty air as she plummets down—

—and, leaping, I save the day by bringing her up in a mag-lift.

"Beau!" She touches my neck gently. "Thanks."

Artha looks paper-white when we jump down to join him. "Kitt! I'm so sorry, thank the Magna Draconis Beau was around, please say you're okay—"

"I'm fine, stableboy."

She's not, quite; but looking up at the racing track so far above I'm amazed she's alive at all. She must have been thrown down there, all that time ago; _Malto will pay_, I vow.

He sighs in relief, and switches on his viddlink. "Guys? We found her on top of the Bethel apartment complex. Somehow, she's okay."

_What did she do to live through the fall, anyway?_

"I tried to pull a mag-inversion," she explains. "It worked. Sorta." Drained, and she's only using one hand to hold to my saddle; but she lives. "Didja catch Malto?"

"Nobody even saw him." Artha slams a fist down on the saddle. "Scales! Lance was right the whole time—about the Malto guy, about him helping Meorganna cheat, about everything?"

"Yeah, Lance and me saw him waiting at the vent and he threw me down," she says. "Don't tell me Meorganna _got away_ with cheating?"

"Yeah. First place, and she's too long gone for Security to find anything," Artha says bitterly. "If only we'd—!"

"You came second?"

"Yeah. Kitt, I'm sorry this happened to you, I'm sorry _I_ nearly chucked you off a building for a second time—"

"Don't sweat it, stableboy. And you know what?" she asks as we turn back to home. "Meorganna just made her biggest mistake yet."

"Cheating to win? _I_ wouldn't mind making mistakes like that—"

"She told you that she _needed_ to cheat," Kitt explains. "You did good, stableboy."

My littermate seems to brighten, flashing her a grin. "Hey, thanks. And you didn't see the last half of the race, did you? It was really close, I must have been just a dragonlength behind Meorganna when the door opened, but we had to dodge a turnstile, and then…."

He gives us the full detail of the race as we travel home, four friends together—yes, the Red included for now, who joins me in an eyeroll at Artha's monologue.

--

"I'm glad to see you're alive. You had us worried," Mortis says, and despite his scowl he's entirely honest about that; and then he ruins it for us. "You should have believed Lance, though." He curls an arm protectively around the boy. "He was nearly murdered today alongside you, because you would not listen. Again."

"Mortis, but—" Lance begins.

"No buts, Lance. You both narrowly survived today. Is there anything more I can do to drive in the seriousness of these matters? You must _listen_. Have you any idea of what your friends felt while they did not know if you were dead or alive, Kitt? _Beau_ searching the city for you, hurt though he has been?"

She takes in a sharp breath, looking down at me. "Oh. I'm sorry—"

"I didn't believe Lance either," Parm says. "Artha too. None of us did. You can't single her out—"

"None of you have been chosen to be the Dragon Booster, either!" Mortis says. "You receive a higher standard because you _must_, Kitt!"

Artha shakes his head. "What Parm said. She was the one hurt. We all should've—"

"It's okay, stableboy." She dismounts, looking apologetically at me. "Sorry I didn't believe you, Lance. I'm sorry I put you through that, guys."

Wyldfyr shrugs.

I'm still just glad she's alive.

_And anyway, Mortis has us battle Drakkus and the like…_

But that's our duty. We must try hard to meet that standard, of course, and Mortis always knows what to do. But I do _not_ blame Kitt for something each of us failed to do.

"Thanks for saving me," Lance says determinedly. "It's _okay_."

"Stable Beau," Mortis orders. "Likely he's exhausted after his efforts today. And complete twenty-five laps of the stable grounds—on foot. You don't appear to be keeping up with your individual training."

She nods, though there's a slight grim edge to her as we reflect on the training she _is_ doing. "All right."

I see the faint shape, looking across at the window; I try to count the number of times she goes past, but after about fifteen I think I fall asleep, and it's not until late morning she comes in and promptly sleeps.

--

"…and I like racing, stealing dra—ah, stealing, I mean buying, good fashion designs to wear, uh, and eyebrow tweezers and sparkly nail polish and girly stuff like that?" Meorganna improvised, drawing to mind the arcane rituals she'd had to perform on the dressmaker's advice.

Saul looked confused; Meorganna raised a hand awkwardly behind her head. "Never mind," she said, and managed a soprano giggle. "So what do you like doing, Saul?"

The Sun City _brat_ (nearly a whole _year_ younger than him, though only a few months Meorganna's junior), was utterly unappealing. His facial expression resembled nothing so much as unbaked cookie dough, and he spoke with an irritating emphasis every second syllable or so.

"Well, I like my ac_tu_arial classes," he said. "My par_ents_ had me placed in the Tech A_cad_emy a year early."

"What fun," Meorganna said.

He glanced at her suspiciously; apparently his sarcasm detectors weren't quite as non-existent as she'd thought. She giggled again. "Math is _so_ hard," she said. "I always got so confused about algebra in school!"

He smiled. "It's not so tough," he said. "I don't think you would want _me_ to tut_or_ you, though."

"Well, not really," she said. "No offence, of course…"

The waiter arriving thankfully pulled them out of the conversational hole with her dracosheep steak and his scalelettuce salad; she saw his glance at her laden plate and realised she'd probably have to confine her diet on future occasions. Maybe not just out in public. _Eww, fat chicks…_

"Dragon racing's an exhausting sport," she said, digging in. It wasn't like he'd ever had the chance to spend that much time up in Sun City, and she wasn't going to throw away good, expensive food on the geeky brat's dime. "Are you a vegetarian?"

"Yes. I _feel_ that many creatures on this _plan_et are sen_ti_ent. The _dragons_ sense a _lot_, and some even think that the hy_drags_ also feel. So I like to be _safe_."

Meorganna sniffed. Even though her father did want dragons to rule, he still wanted to be the one in charge over them; and she wasn't about to weep and moan about the plight of poor yummy dracosheep. "That's so _moral_," she said, opening her eyes in admiration.

"I can give you some pam_phlets_ if you like. My par_ents_ don't fully ap_prove_, but still…"

"That'd be great! Thanks so much!" Meorganna said enthusiastically.

Inside herself, she rehearsed several choicely profane remarks. After glimpsing but failing to capture Dual last night, and sleeping in half the morning, her father's admonitions meant she had no choice but to try to impress Reptilis. He hadn't even allowed her to get the really nice dress that did interesting things to her cleavage, either. _Bastard…_

She tried to hold back a yawn as she listened to Reptilis' droning.

Hmm, the pamphlets weren't too bad, she thought, flicking through them for the sake of something to do while Reptilis was still eating his healthy carrot-cake dessert. 'Course, she'd already known that Decepshun was smart, black dragons always were, and hopefully she'd be taking her home soon enough.

"…And did you want _to_ meet a_gain_?" Reptilis asked, shocking her out of her reverie. "Perhaps in a _week_ or so?"

"I'll have to see what my father says." Meorganna laughed nervously. "He's very strict, of course…"

"I sym_path_ise," Reptilis said, extending a pudgy hand across the table to pat hers. "_Au revoir_, then."

"Whatever," Meorganna muttered as soon as he was out of earshot, and stalked her way out, trying not to trip over the dress.

Cain waited with Decepshun.

"Magna Draconis, talk about boring," Meorganna complained. "And my _feet_ hurt. High heels _suck_. And—wait up!" she called as Cain and Coershun went ahead. "Where're you going?"

"This place I checked out!" Cain called. "Race you?"

"Any time!" Decepshun's thruster gear activated, and keeping an easy pace alongside Cain she worked off some of the frustrations of the date as they sped through to Down City.

"The Green Gherkin," Moordryd read aloud as Cain stopped under the grimy sign in a dingy street.

"The stables are to the back," Cain said, dismounting.

"All right." Setting Decepshun up with a nice feed bowl and tipping the stablegirl, he went with Cain to enter. "And this is…"

"I asked Swayy for all the gossip," Cain said complacently, and pushed open the door to a smoky interior. "Let's go."

Moordryd's first image of the interior of the place was Hazaard of the Dragon Flares, engaged in a rather less than platonic embrace with the Fist Clobber; as he looked around, he saw Shurykyn and Kwarry sharing a pink-coloured drink between them, next to Brawwnn, who had managed to wear both rather too much and too little leather for anyone's good.

"Cain, where is…"

"It's a gay bar," Cain told him, putting down some coins on the bar. "I'll take the Scale Surprise," he told the bar…person, who was wearing a spangled dress but looked a little heavy-featured. "With a black umbrella in."

"Wait, and _Swayy_ told you about it? Does that mean she's…Yeah, I'll go for a Scale Surprise too," Moordryd added to the barperson, who was giving her a rather penetrating sort of stare.

"We only take paying customers," the barperson said, scooping the money off the stained table.

"And some Draconian Fries as well," Moordryd ordered, flinging down his share of the cash. "So, Swayy…"

"I don't think she races on that side of the tracks, aside from that party last year," Cain told him, sparking a particularly treasured memory of Moordryd's where Blarre and Swayy had made out for a full seventeen seconds in a Dragontide Truth or Dare game. "Apparently she asked Vizz…"

"_Oh_." Now that he thought about it, he supposed he'd seen Vizz casting longing glances at Rancydd before—and maybe a little vice versa? "Interesting." The barperson arrived with their drinks, and Moordryd took a long sip. "How come I got a blue umbrella?"

Cain shrugged. "Just drink it."

"Alcoholic?" Moordryd asked, not that that was a bad thing, and seedy places like this didn't always ask to see your racing registration card.

"Nope. That's the surprise." Cain drained his glass in a single go. "Not bad."

"Oh, right." Moordryd looked up as two more people entered, surprisingly enough a woman and a man, Marianis and Dorsull of the Dragon Fish. "D'you think they don't know about this place?" she whispered to Cain, jerking a thumb at them. It'd be totally drac if Marianis' reputation for knowing everything was shattered, and she and Dorsull were close friends at the least…

"See also, you and me here. Well, more you than me."

"What about you and me?"

"Hey, Marianis!" Cain called. "I saw you in the Survival Dome, you were so doing better than the stablebrat."

She looked at them, her eyes travelling up and down Meorganna's dress. "You've got some pretty drac moves yourself," she said to Moordryd.

"Thanks," Moordryd said. Marianis was pretty, and she was being nice to Meorganna… "Sorry I had to knock you down. You're still ahead of the rookie, right?"

Her record was excellent; though the Dragon Fish didn't participate in as many races as other Crews, she and Dorsull would both inevitably make the top three in each they showed up at, and her status as a Crew-leader on top of that meant she would probably be a major contender for a while yet. So she couldn't be _too_ nice to her, Meorganna vowed.

"Yes. The mag-moves he uses are risky. Why do you feel so confident about them?"

"I've been…trained, I guess," Meorganna said.

"We Crews could pool our resources and learn them if we wanted," Marianis said. "However, we consider them dangerous power."

"Well, it usually seems like it's just me and the stableboy using them on each other," Meorganna hazarded. "I didn't think it was so big a deal…"

"At least you're not as aggressive as your cousin," Marianis said, her cool eyes resting on Meorganna's face.

_That's not fair! I'm still_ me_!_

"I'm really, uh, glad you think so," she said. "He's just been leaving me with Cain to tour the City…I don't think he likes hanging around with me that much…"

Marianis sat down on the chair next to him, as opposite Dorsull did the same for Cain.

"Perhaps he doesn't approve of your racing successes," Marinis suggested. "Or the amount of time I hear you've been spending with his lieutenant."

That was Marianis for you. She did that coolly inscrutable smile where you weren't sure what she was thinking, and then she'd bring out the tri-stinger and reveal she knew some crucial bit of information.

"Oh, Cain's fine," he said. "It's all on Moordryd's orders, though he was kind enough to show me this place." _Mix lies with truth._

"And is it what you expected, little fish?" Marianis asked, and he could _hear_ the smirk in her voice.

"Oh yes," Meorganna answered, and then Marianis kissed her.

Pretty expert as kisses went, Moordryd supposed. Talented, Marianiz' slippery tongue apparently discovering new places to penetrate within her mouth, and dispassionate at the same time, manipulating her for what she could get out of her.

It was _totally_ hot and everything he'd ever imagined, she was slick beautiful Marianis and she wanted her, and maybe afterwards they'd go to her place and try lesbian sex until and after morning…

"Word Paynn. On which side of the blanket are you related to him?" Marianis asked breathlessly.

"Uh, my aunt's sister's side," Meorganna said, trying to actually _think_ while the blood seemed to be going…somewhere else. Or was that not how it worked on girls?

Marianis drew her closer, her arm around Moordryd's waist. "You don't resent your aunt's death?"

"Well…" _Shewasamanandranoff?_ "It wasn't my fa—my uncle's fault."

"Word likes dragons better than humans, it seems," Marianis said. "How many dragons does he keep?"

"I don't know," Meorganna said blankly. _Are we going to get back to making out?_ "I like dragons too."

"Thieves have been stealing the dragons of the Crews," Marianis told her, her hands making a complex pattern over Meorganna's thighs, above the silky material of her dress. "We worry—perhaps a man like Word could help us—"

_You'd _better_ be worried_, Moordryd thought. _I don't work hard for nothing._

"He lets his son do most of the Crew stuff. I think," Meorganna said.

"Then—" Marianis lifted Meorganna's chin with a surprisingly strong hand, smooth and fine—"you should watch. For Word's dragons. Your cousin may be unwilling—but if you ever need help, don't hesitate to ask the Dragon Fish."

She kissed her again, finally, taking Moordryd's breath away, until out of the corner of her eye she saw an exhausted-looking Kitt Wann walking in the door. She looked up, startled, and saw Marianis' eyes on her, attentive.

"Lava Pickup," Wann said, flinging some coins down and wiping at a scrape on her cheek. She looked totally burnt out, with her right wrist bound stiffly in bandages, and Moordryd wondered what had happened to her.

"Hey, Wann, what dragged you in? Lose another race?" Meorganna called.

Kitt turned a cold, bleak glance on her. "It's just that I met one of your friends—no. Never mind. One of us has deeper pockets for libel actions." She placed goosebumped hands around the steaming drink before her and managed to swallow it straight down, no painful _owmymouth_s or anything. She must've been cold. Moordryd was impressed.

Then he remembered.

"I don't have any friends in Dragon City, aside from Cain—and this lovely lady I just met," she said, though she wasn't sure the suave gesture to Marianis came off quite right. "You say something that obviously means him, when he's been with me practically the whole time—" _and he'd have told me, wish someone had, I could've used the laugh—_ "it's _slander_. Libel only if you write it, and I'm not sure you know how."

Wann's scowl deepened. "Thanks for the correction. And I wasn't talking about Cain."

"Kitt, you know the Dragon Fish listen," Marianis said to her. "Perhaps we could all…settle our differences?"

"So not in the mood for information brokering, Marianis. Time for me to get out of here."

She strode back outdoors into the night, towards whatever business was keeping her out at godawful.

_Information brokering…?_

"So you were telling me about your uncle's dragons?" Marianis hinted, leaning over to her.

She looked across to see Cain and Dorsull out of the corner of her eye, a whispered conversation with Cain removing Dorsull's hand from his thigh…

Too bad. Marianis was incredibly attractive.

"We've got to go too," Meorganna said, hurriedly standing up and going to fetch Cain. "Nice meeting you. I'll call you."

Marianis raised a slender blue eyebrow. "I could give you my comm number," she said.

"I'll look it up. Come on, Cain."

--

"Sudden," he remarked.

"Meh. I've got to talk to Malto," Meorganna said. "And she was so just out for information. You were all right distracting Dorsull?"

"Yeah, I was just explaining I wasn't interested. What about Malto?"

"You were _seen_," Meorganna said coldly into her VIDDlink. "By at least two people. I thought you said you were the _best_ at what you did?"

"By whom?" Malto's face snapped on screen. "And don't try that tone with me, girl. You've given me the power to ruin your reputation."

Meorganna flushed. _Perfect Meorganna-from-Stone-City…_ He'd never have had these problems as himself.

"My uncle," he said, "and apparently Kitt Wann."

"The blue-haired racer with the really bad attitude? I didn't think they'd find mag-prints on the body," Malto said. "Thanks for the warning."

"Yeah, she's a _body_. Zombie Kitt Wann totally just walked into a bar and got a Lava Pickup to feed her vile undead lusts." Meorganna rolled her eyes. "What happened?"

Malto looked taken aback. "I threw her off the track. You've probably looked down yourself, goes straight to Down City. Like I always say: no evidence, no witness, no crime."

_Yeah, straight to Down City._ He was actually right. _Wann couldn't have lived through that. Wonder who saved her, the Dragon Blunder making a last-minute appearance?_

"Wann's alive. You screwed up."

"And you still owe me my payment. One word from me to racing officials, and…"

"Don't worry. Wann's one person, with a known grudge against me. She won't be telling anyone any time soon."

"I don't do assassinations. In case you were wondering."

Meorganna gestured dismissively. "Doesn't matter. She doesn't matter." _And that's probably a little, you know,_ drastic_?_ "My uncle didn't mind so much. I'll make sure you get your chance to do business."

"Don't make me wait too long. Tell him I've got a sample of Reptilico's new turbo-launcher gear."

"I'll pass your message on," Meorganna said. "Until then, don't call me—and ignore Wann."

"Understood."

_Maked vigilantes reported in the night, perhaps helpers of the Pink Booster, fighting ostensibly to aid dragons…_ the news twittered away, and she thought she saw another shadow far-distant in the streets, the one called Dual. She couldn't be bothered, tonight, homeward bound with Cain at his side.

She dreamed of shadows.

_A mask, no, a dark blindfold, the other man's lips meeting his, shapeshifting-Tran whispering elaborate enchantments into his ear as they lay down._

"_You have more friends than you think, Yama. You could…"_

_He could feel the contours of the body Tran wore, mounting him gently as a shadow himself, no, something _else_, and he could feel a raised diagonal scar across Tran's chest over his back, not something of _theirs_, the particular memory sparking, it could not be…_

"_Like I said, you have more friends than you think…"_

"_This is _foolish_!" He would have thrown Tran off, were it not for the blindfold hampering his vision. "Stop this harebrained scheme! We both have no choice but to value you, but still—!"_

"_You remember the Prophets?" Tran's high tenor or what usually passed for it, mercifully; he could not have borne it if it had been the _other_._

"_It meant nothing. We only did what we had to; I follow _Armeggaddon_, the dragons deserve their freedom—"_

"_The dragons deserve to live! We all do. If you choose to provide an end…"_

"_Not now. _Please_."_

"_Then let us forget Armeggaddon. For what time we have left."_

"_If I must."_

--

Artha has raced, Kitt has battled, and neither have won.

It's about time for me to change that.

Her wrist still unhealed though both of us now somewhat recovered, I take my rider to travel down to the Wastelands, not saying a word, where I _know_ we will find something we need.

"Beau? What is...this?" she asks uncertainly, slowly dismounting. She looks up at the statue before us. "The original Dragon Booster. I…"

My mark glows, and the star at the base of the statue activates, revealing the ancient comm-unit. I do not know how I knew it; only that it was there, and someday the Dragon Booster and I would need to hear it again.

"This is…" Kitt holds it with reverence. "Old. I can't…"

And the voice speaks, as red smoke burns and screams of war echo in me.

"_War has come to Dragon City. Beau and I are the only things standing in its way. We have allies, sure. Many dragons, many humans, but the responsibility is so great. They want a leader. What if I lead them wrong? Still, I am the Dragon Booster, and I've got to try._"

She takes a deep breath, looking down at it. "I'm not him," she says eventually, and it's then that I realise this has been precisely the _wrong_ message for her! She manages to laugh, though. "And I wouldn't let them make statues of me, either."

_A fair point._

"I'm not even sure I'm the Dragon Booster," she says. "But still. In my own way, I'm going to try."

She looks into my eyes, her cool hand on my forehead. "Thank you, Beau. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, and if it's not right please tell..."

I concentrate, and look within myself to transform.

Grey to the right, white to the left; I am become a parti-coloured dragon, split for two halves. Not quite the original, but nonetheless appropriate enough for this purpose.

_Dual._

--

Parmon Sean double-checked the address on the form.

This Citadel was most definitely his destination, with the long line of people outside it; he hoped the popularity was a sign in its favour. He had also read testimonials from racer Megan Dedrovic, who had long since left the Dragon Eyes, and other Academy and Elite class racers beside her (admittedly typically from ten or more years ago—to his shock, he had discovered that Drakkus and Mortis had both fought in that era as well, and had subtly interrogated Mortis to find that none of the testifiers apparently had any connections more significant beyond normal association with the other two).

Artha had laughed and called it "shady", and he hadn't found the chance to tell Kitt at all with all of her absences, but the fact of the matter was that the job happened to offer extra wave-variance and semblance-distortion experience and perhaps even a lend of Elite class gear, was well-paid, and the administrators had assured him they understood completely his commitment to Sharp Edge came first. It was a perfect job where they evidently _appreciated_ his skills, and if there was any funny business he _would_ investigate and inform people. (He really would. He wasn't like that.)

An organization to support and sponsor gifted racers who hadn't been accepted by the Academy for one reason or another, reputation or lack of Crew-support or arbitrary penalties and so on. Rather egalitarian in general outlook, didn't charge anyone for signing up, was extremely up-to-date with present technology despite not teaching the ancient mag-techniques and lore—and, well, maybe there _was_ a catch, but with the Dragon Booster to help they'd bring a corrupt firm to justice if they had to.

The mag-rack approached him, and he gave a squeak and a jump as he noticed it.

"Parmon Sean. Applicant for technical assistant position at Slithercorp. Follow me please."


End file.
